Company We Keep
by Semjaza
Summary: John's death will upset the balance. Midnite is determined to keep that from happening by whatever means necessary. John/Chas, mature content, slash. Slight x-over with the Hellblazer comics. Chapter 9 is posted.
1. Chapter 1

Company We Keep

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world.

Author's Notes PLEASE READ: MovieVerse, but with a few of the comics' elements thrown in. I moved the setting back to London, as I've never been to L.A. and just can't visualize an American Constantine. Set in the movie but without an exact timeframe; think of it as being an alternate course of events guided by a much more proactive and subversive Midnite. It may be a bit confusing at first, but hopefully any issues will be cleared up as I go along. I also apologize for switching back and forth between British and North American English terminology (i.e. flat for apartment, but trunk instead of boot, etc.). This fic features a mixture of Movie!John and Comics!John and Movie!Chas, as well as Movie!Midnite, just so you know.

Rated for M/M sexual content, non-consensual content, and language. If you don't like M/M (slash) content, don't read. Flames on other topics are highly acceptable, but on this issue, Hellblazer (comics) canon is on my side, in theory at least. So just so everyone's clear: This story contains non-graphic (rated M, not MA) non-consensual sex. It contains non-con in this chapter (chapter 1) and any future chapters containing this will also be noted. If that's not your cup of tea, and I don't blame you if it isn't, don't read this fic.

* * *

Chapter One

_I'm not safer than a bank, bitch  
__I'm not safer than a bank, bitch  
__But I'll tell you this  
__Because you're bound to find out  
__Nothing is.  
__- Matthew Good ("I am not Safer than a Bank")_

"This had better not be about tantra," John told Midnite as he fumbled to light his cigarette. He cast a wary glance at Chas, who was pretending not to listen by studiously examining a few artifacts that littered Midnite's office. "Someone always ends up with a wounded look on their face."

Midnite leaned back in his leather armchair, watching the younger man thoughtfully. John looked more haggard each time he saw him. The magician's dark hair was still void of gray, but the lines near his eyes had deepened, and exhaustion was taking its toll on John's normally cocky facade. The witchdoctor toyed idly with a large ruby ring on his index finger before replying. "Wounds heal eventually. And sacrifices have power, John. Every wannabe dark magician with a book and a goat knows that."

John snorted, but his frown returned quickly. "Not him."

"I'm sure the boy knows."

"I meant the supposed sacrifice. The one you're suggesting. It won't be him. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Midnite didn't look the least bit sheepish. "If nothing else, you'll have to train him someday."

"There're others who can teach him that," John hissed, hoping Midnite would take the hint and keep his voice down, or even better, change the topic.

"And they'll benefit from it. You need all the help you can get, John, and there are other places to look for it besides Heaven and Hell."

"It's a cruelty I can spare him, Midnite."

The witchdoctor shook his head, looking for the first time at the seventeen-year-old standing in the corner. Chas was getting taller, and had an awkward charm that endeared him to many. He was currently handling a sixth-century jade dagger like it was something he'd found in a cereal box. Midnite sighed, pulled a key from his pocket, and called Chas over.

"There's a copy of _The Goetia of Doctor Rudd_ on the back wall of the other room there," he gestured to the door nearly behind him. "And a bottle on the smaller table. Bring them to me." Midnite handed over the key. Chas looked at the men suspiciously, but decided to obey without protest (for once, thought John).

"How long is that going to take him?" John finished his cigarette and lit another. "I could've just sent him back to the cab."

"I highly doubt he'll find the _Goetia. _There's a dozen modern French grimoires in there to distract him."

"And maybe a little Marquis de Sade, in keeping with the tone of our discussion?" The magician snarled, taking a drag on his smoke.

"It doesn't have to be violent, John."

"It always is."

"There are potions that could help."

"If he wants it, it won't work. If he doesn't want it, I'm not involving him. And I won't mess with his head, either."

"Your death will be a great upset to the balance, Constantine."

"Hence the apprentice."

"It won't be enough. Chas will need the initiation eventually, and you could use it to your benefit. If you let yourself die when there is a way to get around it-"

"I'm not raping him!" John bellowed, rising to his feet. He glared at the witchdoctor, who remained seated, insufferably calm. A small noise made them both turn aside.

Chas stood in the doorway, bottle and book in hand, a bewildered expression (carefully manufactured, John guessed) fixed on his face.

"John-" he started.

"Go wait in the cab, Chas."

"But-"

"Get out, Chas. You can take the book. Give me the bottle."

"John, I-"

"Now." John pointed to the exit. Chas slunk away like a kicked puppy.

Midnite cleared his throat. "The boy's psychic abilities are getting more chaotic as he ages. The rite would ground them; give him a chance to gain better control. You could channel the excess power to your lungs, burn out the cancer. He's loyal enough, John, Enough for this."

"It's a betrayal of his trust in me, Midnite."

The witchdoctor stood up, reached over, and tucked the bottle into the inner pocket of John's coat. He chuckled, a rich, honey-coated sound.

"What makes you think he trusts you, Constantine?"

* * *

The silence waiting for him in the cab was unsettling. John climbed in and threw a few more books onto Chas' lap. "Compliments of Midnite. A new translation of the _Long Lost Friend_, the _Sethos _edition of _Azoetia_, and _Le petit Albert_. I'm sure he'll scrounge up the annotated editions of the _Kyranides_ for you eventually."

Chas nodded absently. "Thanks." He started the cab and headed home, lost in thought. The boy stole frequent glances at John in the rearview mirror, looking so often that John finally growled at him to watch the road.

They arrived twenty minutes later at the bowling alley that housed John's flat, still immersed in an uncomfortable quiet. Chas snatched the bag from the trunk and carried it up, clutching his new books under his arm. He didn't look at John.

The magician followed more slowly, dropping his last cigarette and grinding it out under his foot. John unlocked the door, relaxed the wards long enough for them to pass through, and herded Chas inside.

"Be careful with those books. Don't read them aloud."

Chas nodded as though he'd heard, heading for the couch. John poured himself a whiskey, and after a moment's deliberation, poured another for Chas. He took the bottle with him and pulled up a chair beside where Chas sat sprawled on the sofa.

"Here." John handed over the glass.

"Are you dying, John?" Chas didn't look up.

"Thought you knew that already?"

Chas nodded.

John was suddenly angry. "So you asked again, in case the diagnosis changed?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Chas protested, flustered.

"How did you mean it then?"

"Like if it was preventa-"

"Shut up, Chas."

"John, I-"

"Just read the damn book." John picked up the _Goetia_ and flipped it open, shoving it at Chas. "Don't bother to memorize the sigils. Anything like that would have to be double-checked. And don't mess around with this stuff either, or I'll kick your ass. Last thing we need is you making new friends," The tall man gestured to the grimoire and silently congratulated himself on changing the topic, hoping the brat would listen to him.

He poured himself another whiskey, and then another for Chas. John stared into space and Chas stared at the book. Neither spoke. Half an hour later Chas was asleep. John left without covering him with a blanket.

* * *

John watched as Chas stirred on the couch. It was just past two in the morning. What was he doing out here? The boy had shrugged off his socks and jeans some time ago, but now was shivering in his t-shirt and boxers. He opened his large, hazel eyes and blinked sleepily.

"What time is it, John?" He moved to get up.

John stopped him, leaning over his apprentice's back and crushing him back down onto the threadbare sofa. John could feel the warmth of the body beneath him; Chas often seemed feverish. John craved warmth like a moth craves a flame; his aching lungs were soothed simply by Chas' presence. The teen smelt like the dust from the sofa, old parchment, and sandalwood incense.

"What the fuck, John?" Chas gasped and squirmed, more irritated and confused than afraid. "Get off me!"

The magician didn't reply. Instead, he flipped the boy onto his back and straddled his hips. His hands slid up under the _Sex Pistols_ t-shirt and tugged it off over Chas' head. Chas took a swing at him, but his heart wasn't in it. He pushed the older man away, sputtering.

"John, this isn't funny. Will you fuck off?"

John leaned over and bit Chas where his neck met his shoulder. Chas froze. The bite became a licking, sucking kiss, extracting a whimper from the apprentice. _This is not right_, thought John, but he couldn't stop himself. There was blood in his mouth and Chas was struggling again.

"John? Stop it," he pleaded. "Are you on some kind of meds? What are you doing?"

"Shut up, Chas," John muttered, and put all of his weight on the boy, grinding his erection into Chas' groin.

"Fuck, oh fuck no," Chas started to fight again, in earnest this time. He wasn't half as strong as John, and the magician pinned his hands in one of his own, reaching down with the other to unzip his own fly. Chas broke free of the hold and landed a solid punch on John's jaw. The man reeled for a moment, and then backhanded Chas across the face. He ran his hands down the chest of the stunned teen, sliding them over the taut belly and then under the waistband of the boxers.

"John, please…"

"Shut up, Chas." John tugged off the boy's boxers and tossed them aside. He crushed Chas to him, muffling the boy's struggles, forcing him down into the dusty cushions of the sofa. Chas fought. He swore. He thrashed, all knees and elbows and desperation. John, with preternatural strength for a dying man, held Chas down, opening the boy's lower lip with a hard smack to the face. He leaned in, kissed Chas' mouth, tasted blood.

"John." The boy whispered, trying to meet his gaze. "John."

John drove into him. Chas keened in pain, and screamed when John started to move.

"You deserve this, Chas, you whore. You do, you do…"

John awoke with a yell.

He sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat, his sheets twisted around him. Light from the streetlamps shone in through the window. The pain in his lungs was nearly unbearable.

"Fuck." John waited until he could fight down his nausea, then got up and padded softly to what passed for his living room. Chas slept on the couch, snoring softly. The magician sighed and went back to bed.

* * *

While reviews are nice, I also appreciate being notified of spelling, grammatical, and continuity errors. Issues as to what Midnite is suggesting will be resolved eventually. All grimoires mentioned actually exist (though I have no comment as to their usefulness), tantra is defined for the purposes of this fic as esoteric sexuality, and the Marquis de Sade is the dude from which we get the term sadism (and sadist, sadomasochist, etc.). But you knew that. Just sayin'.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. M/M mature content, if you didn't get that from chapter one.

Author's Notes: I've been wondering (hypothetically, of course) about how Chas Kramer got to be John's apprentice ('cause Chas Chandler from the Hellblazer comics is one of John's oldest (and only?) friends, and is also John's age. Comics!John did have a young apprentice, but I don't know anything more about that. Tim Hunter, anyone?) My point being, one just doesn't become an exorcist/magician's apprentice without having some kind of skills besides driving a cab and looking good in a hat. So, I gave him a few psychic abilities, nothing much, but enough to get him into John's occult world and make him more than just another geek obsessed with magical knowledge. Comics!Chas' mother was a witch (of the old school, lol), so perhaps I'm not going that far off my blended canon.

* * *

Chapter Two

_The gas heater's empty, it's down past a two  
__The spirits we drank are now ghosts in the room  
__How mad can I get, c'mon please take me soon  
__And I lift up my head to the twelve bells of noon  
__- Spirit of the West ("Home for a Rest")_

Chas woke up with the dawn's light streaming obnoxiously into his eyes. He groaned and rolled away from it, burying his face into a pillow. John's sofa wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever slept, but it had the advantage of not being in his mother's shitty apartment, where her latest boyfriend lurked. Chas was just grateful that John didn't hit him.

His dreams had been weird, more chaotic than usual. Probably the effects of reading that damn grimoire, he decided. It was a wonder that nothing had jumped out at him. Spirits liked Chas. They knew he could see them.

He could tell the half-breeds from normal people. Not the full view, demonic faces or angel wings, like John, but a few subtle hints: reflective eyes, or aura patterns that gave a hint of halo or hellfire. Chas had a few other tricks up his sleeve, like seeing the history of an object when he held it (psychometry, Beeman had called it), or knowing when someone wanted to do him harm (common fucking sense, John had said).

Seeing auras was especially useful though. They showed a person's (or rather, being's) mood, and health, and what kind of psychic shield they used. Chas had known that John was sick for a long time, maybe even longer than John had. He could see the illness, but not how bad it really was. Chas sometimes wondered if John would blame him for not saying anything early on, when the cancer could've been dealt with. Or even if John knew he could see the sickness at all.

Pushing the darker thoughts from his mind, Chas rolled off the couch and stretched. The fact that he'd woken up here, and not at home, was enough to improve his mood drastically. Despite the atrocious furniture and cranky exorcist, John's flat was a sanctuary for Chas. He could be as weird as he damn well pleased and no one would give him flak for it. Like it was almost a requirement or something.

* * *

John waited until he heard Chas leave for work, then climbed out of bed and into the shower. The building's pipes were typical for London, supplying a lukewarm trickle of water. John leaned his head against the tiled wall, reviewing the previous day's (and night's) events.

He hated to think that Midnite was right, that teaching Chas some of the darker rites of tantra could possibly be his cure. The theory was sound, and Midnite was correct in thinking that if John didn't take advantage of Chas, someone else would. The teenager's main interest was demonology, which was dodgy even for the occult world. It worked to John's advantage when he was performing exorcisms, but it was only a matter of time before some demonic half-breed came by and sweet-talked Chas into some sort of Faustian pact. The boy was entirely too enthusiastic to know when he was entering unsafe territory.

And then there was that disgusting dream. Sick, and horrible, and… a little bit arousing. Thinking of it brought bile up his throat. John was used to nightmares, but he usually wasn't the monster. He wasn't a shiny example of a do-gooder human being, it was true, but he did have a few moral standards. Okay, one moral standard. He wasn't a rapist. He may be a con-man, a thief, a liar, a killer, but he'd never forced one single person, and he never would. Ever.

Great little pep-talk there, John, he thought. Better keep thinking that way, when you're sick and dizzy and on your way to hell, and starting to think that fucking Chas will keep you alive a little bit longer. It's not just the Christian god that punishes rapists; there are deities of justice in every pantheon. They'll probably pass your worthless soul around, demons and furies and asuras and valkyries. So, you'll die of cancer and go to hell, or you'll die some other way and go to hell. Doomed either way, only you'll feel better about the former. Lovely.

John shook his head and got out of the shower. And what about the balance? Midnite's words came flooding back. Are you going to give up on all that you've worked for? Let the demonic half-breeds tighten their grip on this city? Who's going to pull demons out of little girls if not you, Constantine? If there was someone else to do the job, they would've appeared by now. Neutrality is a joke when you know which side will win.

A coughing fit disturbed John's thoughts, left him doubled over the sink in pain. When he could move again, he returned to his bedroom and dressed quickly, then rummaged through his coat pockets. The small glass bottle was right where Midnite had placed it. John opened the bottle and sniffed the contents. Laudanum and liquorice and a hint of spicy clove floated up. Knowing Midnite, those would just be for starters. Hell, thought John, better than drinking cough syrup, and he knocked it back like a shot of whiskey.

A moment later, he was on the floor.

* * *

"Christ John, didn't you read the label?" Chas' voice was indignant, floating somewhere above John's head. "I can't lift you myself, so you're going to have to try and help me."

The magician opened his eyes, finding himself in his darkened room. The only light was from the lamp in the kitchen. Chas was bent over him, hat pulled low over his eyes, trying to haul him to his feet.

"Get off me," John muttered. "Of course I didn't read the label. There wasn't one." He pushed Chas away and sat up, his head spinning.

"Surely there was, John." Chas picked up the bottle and looked it over. "It must have fallen off." He glanced at the floor, and picked up a slip of paper. "The dosage given was four drops, in a glass of water."

"That would've been fucking useful to know."

"No shit," Chas snapped, and grabbed John's hands. "I'll pull, and you try to stand."

John's aching body protested, but Chas managed to yank him halfway to his feet. He was almost standing when a wave of vertigo washed over him. John grabbed at Chas, trying to keep from falling, and only managed to pull the boy down on top of him.

"Fuck. Get off of me." John shoved at Chas, who'd landed in his lap. His apprentice looked at him, horrified but seemingly frozen in place. John glowered, but Chas seemed to be resolving to do something. The gears were turning behind those large hazel eyes.

"John, I heard your conversation with Midnite yesterday-"

"No shit, you little eavesdropper."

"I didn't mean to, but my name seemed to keep coming up, and-"

"Get off me, Chas!"

"John, please listen! I-"

"Chas. You're hurting me."

Chas leapt back as if John had burned him. "Oh god, fuck, I'm sorry. John, here…" The teenager wrapped his arms around John's waist and struggled to lift him. John cursed under his breath but let Chas get him onto his feet. He staggered to his bed and sat down, thoroughly disconcerted when Chas knelt in front of him.

"John, let me help."

"Absolutely not. You have no idea what it would involve. I'm not discussing this with you," John hoped his voice sounded more authoritative to Chas than it did to his own ears.

Apparently it didn't, because Chas's face went hard. Not coldly, out of anger (and John didn't think the kid had _that _in him) but determinedly, with resolve. The magician had to admit that Chas was one stubborn punk. Willpower, he thought, can't be an occultist without it.

"I know it involves sex," Chas started, his face starting to blush a tiny amount of pink.

John rolled his eyes. "Not happening."

"And Midnite mentioned potions that would help with the ritual..."

"He meant potions to wipe your memory after I raped you," John snapped, forgetting that they were not discussing this. "And for that matter, I could have done it already, couldn't I? Just get out Chas. You're pissing me off." The exorcist started coughing.

The boy hesitated, watching the older man sadly. "I brought you supper. It's on the table."

He turned and was gone, leaving John hunched over on the edge of his bed, the taste of blood and tar filling his mouth.

* * *

John had spent the previous night and most of the day sleeping fitfully. He was awakened only when Beeman had shown up, talking excitedly about finding a new source for dragon's breath and finally being able to buy the new edition of the _Armadel_. John had had his fill of old-school grimoire work during his youth, and after the Newcastle incident, well... They weren't all that useful to him anymore.

Beeman enjoyed them however, pervert that he was, and knew Chas would appreciate a copy. He left the slim leather-bound book on the pile of tomes that the boy had received from Midnite, and noticing John's irate glance, fled the flat.

An hour later Chas had returned, knocking softly out of politeness. He'd long before learned to slip through the front door of John's building without having to be buzzed in, though John wasn't quite sure how he did it. John answered the door and stepped back to let Chas enter.

"Beeman thinks you need more books on calling up demons. The _Armadel_'s with the others, beside the couch."

Chas nodded, his eyes lighting up.

"You're a geek, Chas, you know that?"

"You're an ass, John, you know that?" Chas mimicked, flipping the magician off and throwing himself onto the couch, new book in hand.

The exorcist poured two snifters of brandy, handed one to Chas (who promptly choked on it and spent several minutes in a coughing fit not unlike one of John's, before finally composing himself), and sat down in the room's sole chair. He stayed silent, watching his apprentice dive into the book with an enthusiasm that John couldn't remember ever feeling. He noticed that Chas had given up on the brandy, which was slightly cheaper than the whiskey he'd bought and regrettably tasted like paint-thinner.

The late afternoon sun slid lazily through the windows. He was too sick to work quite yet, but maybe tomorrow he'd take on a job. He needed to talk to Midnite again about some suspected demonic activity in the cheap hotels near the Pimlico tube station, and…

Chas was watching him quietly, his fingers marking his place in the book. He moved as if he was going to get up and go towards John.

"Don't. Chas. Just, stay put." John put every ounce of his patience (which admittedly wasn't much) into the words, worried that he'd hit Chas if the boy came any closer. No need to make a bad situation worse by adding unnecessary violence. As long as Chas kept his distance, they'd be okay. Things would work out, eventually. Somehow.

John went back to the kitchen to get the rest of the brandy.

* * *

Yeah, that sucked. Is John being too nice in this fic? Is Chas being too caring? Reviews are appreciated, or corrections of spelling, grammar, and continuity. Next chapter will hopefully be better, haha.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and various farm animals. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. M/M mature content, if you didn't get that from chapter one.

Author's Notes: I would just like to throw out this idea: watch John's and Chas' thoughts. I know they're not always clearly marked, but a lot of storyline details pertaining to their relationship are subjective to them. We only know what John and Chas think they know about themselves and each other, and they aren't always correct. Not to make you all paranoid about details, and not just to cover my ass about continuity, but just something to think about. 'Cause it's what I'm thinking about, lol.

* * *

Chapter Three

_"Bright and early for the daily races  
__Going nowhere, going nowhere..."  
__- Tears for Fears ("Mad World")_

John awoke to a dull ache that seemed to pervade every aspect of his being. Climbing out of bed was a laborious task; he heard his bones creak in protest at the movement. The magician rubbed at his eyes wearily and began composing a dozen good excuses for just saying "Fuck it," and staying in bed the rest of the day. He'd reached number seven, "It's not as if anything good will come of getting up," when he caught a whiff of coffee. He could just barely hear muffled voices coming from his kitchen. Which was... odd.

Senses tingling, and suddenly far more awake than he really wanted to be, John strode towards the sounds, a defensive spell beginning to coalesce in the back of his mind. Before he could form it completely, shape it into a coherent package and send it off into the world to work his will, he'd stepped into the kitchen and found Chas and Midnite sitting at the table. Early morning sunshine bathed the whole room in a glow that was, to John's suffering eyes, entirely unnecessary.

"Oh, you're awake," Chas began.

"Yes," John answered, looking at Midnite. "How did you get in here?"

"Chas let me in," the witchdoctor replied smoothly, picking up his coffee cup with his heavily-ringed fingers and taking a sip.

"Through my wards?" John snapped, indignant. This was his flat, goddamnit, and no one was getting in without his letting them. It was his area to control, an extension of his mind. To have anyone just wander in, or worse, mess with the warding spells, was a huge violation of not only his space but his being. And of course Midnite knew this. The man was smiling as he looked up at him, but John rounded on Chas, furious.

"How dare you open wards to my home without my permission? This is _my_ home, not yours, Chas. I've half a mind to throw you the hell out of here, you stupid -"

"Constantine." Midnite's voice interjected, soft but laden with power. John paused, knowing Midnite was working something on him. He felt himself relaxing and fought against it.

"Calm down, John. The boy didn't mean anything by it. I met him at the shop and came back here with him. I'd say he left the wards open a bit, so he could let himself back in."

John refused. "He knows better. I _taught_ him better. Just because I'm checking out in a few we- a few months doesn't mean the place is his already." John stopped abruptly, trying to think of a way to deny what his outburst implied. A lot of his belongings would go to Chas; it wasn't as though his sister or niece would appreciate vials of dragon's blood or 8th century holy relics or a cursed Templar pentagram or...

Damn, it's too early for this, John thought, grabbing the coffee nearest him and taking a huge gulp. It burnt all the way down. Grimacing, he risked a glance at Chas, who as of yet hadn't tried to hide under the table. A good sign.

"We have work today. Get the gear and wait in the cab. I'll be down in ten minutes." No point in showering before an exorcism.

Chas was up in an instant, as though he couldn't bear to be in the room any longer. John heard him grab the bag of exorcism supplies and a few books from the living room and then felt him leave the flat. He barely made a ripple as he passed through the wards.

Midnite noticed too. "Impressive. I can't think of any other teenager who could do that."

"What? Piss me off so quickly?" John growled, knowing full well what Midnite had meant.

"He's talented, John, and more ambitious than you realize. You should let him help you out more, before he starts to think you're holding him back."

"It's not safe. You know that."

Midnite snorted, grinning at John.

The magician rolled his eyes. "Not now."

"Then when? Is he going to get a crash course that begins as soon as you're buried, John? When people start coming to him for help? Any scores you haven't settled, any debts you haven't paid off, any old grudges or feuds: these are all going to be dumped into Chas' lap, and you've got to prepare him."

"He'll be capable."

"You say that, but does Chas know? I don't doubt his abilities, but how will he know what he can do unless he's tried? When you were his age-"

"When I was his age I'd almost died a hundred times over from my own stupidity. I was utterly thrilled to make my first magical enemies, meet witches and demons and ghosts. I had no sense whatsoever, and I wouldn't wish those experiences on anyone. Especially not Chas. He's..." John gestured, looking for a word to describe his apprentice. Midnite caught his eye and laughed.

"More like, you're..." he waved a hand.

The magician frowned, but Midnite continued. "You can't protect him forever, John. And the sooner you stop trying to, the better it will be for Chas."

John didn't answer, and Midnite didn't press the matter. He pulled a crumpled strip of paper from one of his many pockets and stood up.

"There's your address. It's on Belgrave road. Should be easy to find; Chas will know the way. Let him help."

John glowered. Midnite gracefully sauntered to the door and paused to let John open the wards. Polite of him, John thought bitterly.

"He re-wrote your wards as easy as breathing, John. That's something."

"Yeah. Annoying."

Midnite laughed. "And how many seventeen-year old boys do you know who drive licensed cabs? Especially with insurance rates the way they are. A company would have to be crazy to hire one on. And yet..."

"And yet..." John glanced upwards in an ironic appeal for help, knowing it would never appear. "Goodbye, Midnite."

"Goodbye. Oh, and John..."

"Yeah?"

"Let go."

The witchdoctor left, the lingering scent of cinnamon and clove the only trace of his presence. John gazed at the door for another minute before lighting a cigarette and wandering back to his room to dress.

* * *

The awkward silence in the cab gave Chas a sense of deja-vu. John sat slumped in the back seat, idly flicking through his set of metallic banishing talismans. The constant dull clink as they clicked against each other was beginning to grate on Chas' nerves. He decided to risk speaking, making sure that he didn't look at John. Being looked at seemed to tick John off these days; well, that and everything else.

"I'm sorry about the wards, John," he ventured softly, lifting up his hat to brush his hair away from his eyes.

"Hmm." The exorcist grunted in response, holding one of the key-like talismans up to the light and checking its pattern. With his other hand John kept a small book open on his lap, the sigils on its pages matching those etched in the metal.

"I mean, I didn't think that you would take it as a violation of your space." Chas would've rambled on but stopped himself, barely. Get a hold of yourself, Chas, he admonished. Don't babble like an idiot. No wonder he doesn't take you anywhere.

"It's fine, Chas," came the murmured response from behind him. The boy could feel John looking at him; feel the gaze burning onto his skin, pressing into it, searching out his every intention. Chas adjusted his hat and cleared his throat self-consciously, wondering if he could disappear under the steering wheel. He clutched at the gearshift, knocked the cab out of gear, and blushed bright red to hear John chuckle behind him.

"Easy there."

"God, John, have you thought about getting medication for those mood swings of yours?"

"Ah, there's the attitude back. Decided you're not scared of me after all, huh?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, John. What's the address again? It would've been faster to take the tube."

"Tube's too warm. Stale air hurts my lungs. The place is just up here on Belgrave."

Chas was cheered momentarily by John's uplifted mood. He feels better when he's being useful, Chas realized, pulling up at the address. Eight stories of grayish stone loomed up from the pavement, and false marble pillars framed a faded door that could've used a fresh coat of red paint.

John was out of the car before Chas could ask to come with him. He didn't say no, though, so Chas followed after the magician, catching up to the man and taking the bag of gear away from him. John relinquished it without protest, pausing to light a cigarette. He glanced at Chas once but said nothing, and the teen opened up a bit, trying to read the other man.

John was in pain, Chas knew; the magician's aura was a haze of dull reds and rust tones. The cancer squatted darkly in his chest, gleaming like asphalt on a hot day. It had to hurt, had to be suffocating him. Chas fought down the urge to reach out and try to soothe him. John caught the teen's glance and frowned at him, and Chas quickly pulled his mind away.

"There are other uses for that, Chas. Have a look at where we're going."

A test, Chas knew at once. He let his consciousness pool out a bit, let his mind seep into the air and pavement and dust around him. He found his breathing, steadied it; felt John standing beside him, the magician's breathing a slow rasp. Three starlings flew overhead; their lives lived at a higher speed than his own. A nearby tree released a hundred thousand molecules of pollen. He was surrounded by people everywhere; breathing, living, dying. Beneath his feet, under the pavement and worm-riddled earth there were miles of tunnels, and people and rats and fleas moved along them. Above him, the sky stretched forever. For a moment the world was too much, too present in his head, threatening to overwhelm him with the sheer vastness of everything.

But it lasted only a moment, as it always did. Chas got himself back under his own control, got his mind out of everything and back into focus. And this was only one world, he reminded himself, there were an untold number more, lurking behind and under and above and between. Focus, Chas! The teen breathed out and began again. He let his mind follow footprints and perfumes into the building in front of him, where he could feel the demon lurking, as much a blight on this space as the cancer was in John's lungs.

"Third floor, corner flat. The man who contacted Midnite is heading towards us, as well."

John nodded, flicking ash off his cigarette. "Not bad."

Chas beamed.

* * *

The exorcism was a mess, but that was only to be expected. It wasn't as though he'd ever gotten through the complete ritual without being vomited on or bled on, or some combination of the two. Chas had withstood the mess with a calm steadfastness that was quite admirable for his first time, and John had to admit to himself that the boy's centeredness and stability had helped more than he would ever let on.

There'd been moments in that stifling room where he'd been convinced that he'd pass out due to an unfortunate combination of exhaustion, heat, and illness, but he'd managed. With Chas' help. The teen had been a steady presence at his elbow, handing him talismans, ritual implements, and holy water before he'd even had to ask for them. Hell, Chas knew the entire rite, including the Latin, as well as he did. Whether or not he could effectively use what he'd learned by himself remained to be seen.

John finished his musings and headed out of the building, his meagre payment tucked into his pocket. The noonday sun beat down on him, its harsh white light illuminating the bag of gear placed beside the empty cab. John cursed under his breath. Exorcisms always attracted unwanted attention. A scuffling sound came from the alleyway next to the building, and John quickly headed towards it, lungs starting to burn.

He found Chas backed against the building's stone wall, half hidden behind a filthy dumpster. His hands were at his sides, clenched into fists. John found himself mirroring the gesture.

"Balthazar," he growled.

The tall, tanned half-breed was pressed against Chas, fingers curled lazily around the boy's neck. He caught Chas under the chin, forcing him to tilt his head back and show throat. John watched Chas swallow nervously, his breathing pained and his eyes unreadable. The demon leaned closer, whether to whisper to Chas or to lick his earlobe John couldn't tell. He was so pissed off he could barely see straight.

Balthazar finally deigned to look at John, his red-violet eyes gleaming. "I was wondering when you'd join us, Johnny-boy." He pressed his lean frame harder against the teen. Chas swore.

John fumbled in his pockets for a talisman against the half-breed in front of him. Balthazar was an odd one, often showing up in the areas of London that John frequented the most, but never doing enough damage to warrant being deported back to Hell. That could change today, John thought, and found the talisman that matched the resonance of Balthazar's fiery aura. The intricate sigils responded to the demon's presence, drawing warmth from the exorcist's fingers.

"Get your hands off him. Now."

Balthazar acquiesced, laughing unkindly. "You shouldn't leave your little pet alone in these neighbourhoods, John, especially in your line of work. Some misfortune might befall him." The demon made a show of straightening Chas' hat. "It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice if he'd already been bled out, now would it?"

The exorcist sneered, lifting the sigil-key. "Get out of my sight, asshole."

"Or you'll what, John? Cough blood all over my suit?" Balthazar stepped away from Chas disdainfully. "Tell the boy what it is you have planned for him, exorcist. Tell him what you'll do to him, when you're sick and dizzy and dying. Does he have any idea, John?"

The magician flinched, hearing his own worries paraded out in front of him. He ignored the ache in his chest and started towards Balthazar. The demon laughed and stepped aside, moving away. He smoothed his suit and turned to smile at Chas before slipping into the shadows of the alleyway. Immediately the air around them seemed less oppressive. John pocketed the talisman and headed for the teen.

"Alright, Chas?" John murmured.

"Yeah." His, _his_, apprentice replied, eyes on the ground.

"No use staying here. Let's go." The magician headed for the cab, thankful that Balthazar hadn't called his bluff. He paused when he didn't hear Chas' footsteps behind him.

"Hey."

"I'm okay," Chas whispered, clearly lying. He leaned against the wall, staring off into space, anything but alright.

"Did he say something to you?"

A pause. "No." Another lie, John thought. He closed the distance between them but Chas flinched away.

"Chas." John ignored the coughing fit he felt beginning in his chest. He stepped on every impatient thought that came into his head, demanding that he simply haul Chas back to the cab. The magician leaned closer, gently catching Chas under the chin to make him lift his eyes, realizing a second too late that Balthazar had done the same thing.

Chas froze.

"Chas," John repeated. "Look at me." _Look. _

Chas refused, ignoring both the words and the impulse. "What did he say, Chas?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. The First Himself couldn't shut that one up."

"It's nothing, John. Sorry. C'mon, let's go, you look exhausted." Chas' words came in a rush. He gently pushed past John and headed for the cab.

John grabbed the teen's shoulder as he passed and swung him around, knocking both of them off balance. He staggered to catch himself, barely keeping himself from slamming them both into the wall. As it was, Chas resisted, and John ended up pressed hard against him. Chas swore softly, finding himself knocked into the stone wall for the second time that day.

"What the hell, John?"

"Tell me what he told you."

Chas shook his head, not meeting John's gaze.

"C'mon, Chas," the magician coaxed, wanting to step away but afraid Chas would bolt if he did. The boy was pleasantly warm against him, smelling of the holy incense he'd lit for the exorcism. Sage and sweetgrass and sandalwood, myrrh and frankincense and cedar; John inhaled deeply before he could stop himself.

"Um... John?"

"Yeah?"

Chas relaxed suddenly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against John's shoulder. "He told me how I would die."

* * *

Please review. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. M/M mature content.

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who added this to their favourites and alerts! Your support is appreciated. I want this fic to be good, so criticize away too please. And Malty, thank you for reviewing. Your reviews have helped this fic so much, I should totally buy you some of this awesome Baby Duck Canadian sparkling wine I'm drinking. It's like drinking fizzy juice, and then BAM, you're wasted. Good times. :D

There is non-graphic sexual content and brief non-consensual content in this chapter. You have been warned.

* * *

Chapter Four

_"C'mon God, do you think I'm bullet-proof?"  
__- Red Hot Chili Peppers ("Fortune Faded")_

After what seemed like an eternity, John bundled Chas out of the alley. The cab ride home was awful; Chas was horribly distracted, missing three red lights at intersections, and nearly killing an unfortunate cat that happened to try and cross the street in front of them. Then there was forty minutes of Traffic-Hell, in which John almost started to believe that he'd died and ended up in the First's realm already.

Back at John's building, the lift was out, and Chas wasn't in the mood to wait for him. The magician stopped to catch his breath on the second floor landing. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the steps, too tired to be angry. John stared at the dingy wall in front of him, eyes seeking out the faces in the cracks in the plaster. He hated that Balthazar had gone after Chas, hated himself for not protecting him better, and hated Chas for making him feel this way.

He'd never planned on taking an apprentice. He'd never had anyone formally teach him; sure, a few people had shared tricks with him when he was younger, pointed out some short-cuts, tried to make him feel less crazy. For the most part, though, he'd been on his own. Trial and error, and luck.

Fuck, it was a wonder he'd survived as long as he had. It only made sense that he wanted to protect Chas from... all of that. And it didn't help matters that Chas seemed to be the type to dive headfirst into the deep end before he knew how to swim. Not to mention all the sharks in the pool.

John shifted his weight. The steps were narrow and uncomfortable, designed for utility and not for musing. He stretched out his legs and fell back into his thoughts, taking a long drag on his smoke.

As far as apprentices went, he figured Chas was a good one. Not that he'd met many magicians' apprentices before. The teen was different, he decided. A powerful psychic on top of having a natural talent for spellcraft and ritual. And inexperienced enough to be able to fuck things up badly: a dangerous combination. Sometimes John wondered what Chas would've turned out like had they not met that day in Postman's Park.

Possibly very badly, John thought, remembering the skinny fifteen-year-old, obviously beaten the day before, tucked under a yew tree reading _Le_ _dragon rouge_. He could've easily become a nightmare. He was simply too smart for his own good, John determined. He'd never met anyone else able to work with _that_ particular grimoire. Hell, he'd never met anyone able to even coherently read the thing, as it was the most complex book of demonolatry written in the last three hundred years.

It's a good thing for all of us that he's as good-natured as he is, the magician decided.

"Hey, John." The voice was right beside him. Chas sat on the step, less than a foot away, looking concerned.

"Jesus Chas, make some noise next time, will you?" John snapped, startled but not as annoyed as he sounded. He flicked ash onto the steps, knowing the landlord really didn't give a damn.

"Lost in thought?" Chas smirked just a little, a subtle quirk around the corners of his lips. John saw it.

"You complain about me being moody, and yet..."

"And yet..." Chas smiled a bit, but John saw shadows behind the teen's luminous hazel eyes. He glanced at Chas' throat, noting the bruises starting to darken on his pale skin. Chas saw him looking and rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.

"It's nothing, John. I mean..." The boy paused, searching for the words he wanted. "I mean, it's something I have to learn to deal with, right?"

God, you're brave, John thought. What he said was, "It's not 'nothing,' Chas. Everything he said and did to you was deliberate. I wish you'd tell me what he told you."

The teen shook his head, his hands re-setting his hat carefully.

"Why not? I could make you tell, you know."

"I know, John." Chas looked at him, sadly.

The magician sighed, crushing the butt of his cigarette into the wall beside him, leaving a scorch mark. "But I won't."

"Thank you," Chas whispered, his breath warm on John's ear.

* * *

"Do you think if we used the 1999 edition of the _Rituale Romanum_, instead of the 1614 one, that the exorcisms wouldn't take as long?"

One problem with letting Chas help, John thought, was that he threw a wrench into well-established patterns. A wrench, and maybe a crowbar and pick-axe as well. John was decidedly set in his ways.

"No," he stated flatly, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact that it was muffled into his glass of scotch. "They take as long as necessary."

Chas raised dubious eyebrows from across the table. The remains of several take-out dishes from the local Thai restaurant were scattered between them, as well as a couple leather-bound books, which practically glowed with demonic influence.

"The wording in the 1614 takes twice as long to say." His apprentice continued to argue, undeterred by John's morose countenance.

"Demons hate Latin. And besides, the 1999 edition's too religious."

"You're kidding, John. It's published by the Vatican. Of course it's religious."

"But in 1614, the power of exorcism was given to the magician, priest, or exorcist. In the '99 edition, the exorcist gets the Catholic god to send angels to drive out the demons. The former is straightforward in that respect, and there's no frigging around with those snobs."

"Snobs, John?"

"Angels. Bunch of wankers, all of 'em, with their rules and politeness. I'd rather do things my own way."

"Which is why you put 19th century Golden Dawn material into a 17th century Catholic exorcism?"

"Yeah. So, you noticed," John muttered.

"Nothing like a fire-invoking pentagram and a Quabbalistic cross to make you wonder what's going on, John."

"Wonder, Chas? You sure it wasn't all the blood and puke that was throwing you off?"

"Gross, John. We're eating lunch here. And really, weird spew is sort of... expected..."

"You mean, expectorated."

"Again, gross."

"So what else is expected, Chas?" John decided to quiz the teen. No use trying to exorcize someone who really needed to see a shrink, instead. He took another sip of his drink, watching Chas sort foreign vegetables into neat piles on his plate.

"Um... superhuman strength, for one. Evidence of psychic or preternatural abilities that weren't previously present... Oh, and if they can speak languages they don't know, ten to one they're possessed."

"All standard stuff. All exorcists look for those. But what else did you _see_, Chas?" John persisted, knowing that logical analysis of psychic abilities was one way to understand them. Chas thought for a minute, twirling spicy noodles around his fork.

"I... I just knew where it was. I saw it from outside the building, through the walls."

"And when you saw the possessed girl?"

"Well, I kinda just looked at her and saw it inside of her, John. Couldn't miss it. It enveloped her aura completely."

John nodded in approval, deciding his little quiz was over. Chas looked exhausted, his encounter with Balthazar clearly still troubling him. The magician wanted a nap, shoved the part of him that considered asking Chas to take a nap with him firmly out of his head, and yawned abruptly.

Chas got the hint, standing up and pulling on his denim coat. He finished off his meal, and most of John's as well, and headed for the door. "I gotta get to work, John. I've missed most of the day already."

The exorcist remembered something. "Wait, Chas." He hauled himself to his feet and began rummaging through a small cardboard box on the counter. The Celtic Triquetra he'd given to his friend Hennessy, but he should still have a few protective charms kicking around somewhere. An Eye of Horus, or Hand of Fatima, or something. Eventually, he found a tiny silver pentagram on a long chain.

"You've got quite a collection of esoteric jewellery there, John. I'm sure you'll be able to use it to woo a goth girl someday."

"Shut up, Chas. They're all enchanted. Here." He handed the charm to Chas, who eyed it doubtfully.

"Someone will think I'm a witch, John."

"Good way to make new friends, Chas," John said, ignoring his apprentice's snort. "Make sure you wear it."

"Alright, already." Chas tucked the amulet under his shirt and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, eyeing the magician. "Need anything, John?"

"Not from you." John went to bed, hearing the door click shut in the kitchen.

* * *

Chas was frightened; John knew it. The boy was in way, way over his head, and starting to realize that he couldn't get out of this. He was beginning to understand that he should never have agreed to this, that he should never have offered. The magician pushed harder against Chas, making sure the sex hurt. He ignored the muffled gasps the teen emitted and kept his rhythm unbalanced and jagged, not allowing Chas to accommodate his thrusts.

John stared at the teen bound before him, watched the boy choking on his own blood which stained the cloth that gagged him. John knew how he felt; that horrible feeling of not being able to breathe, lungs screaming for air, throat closing up. Chas was panicking now, struggling against him, his naked body slick with sweat and blood.

John yanked the cords binding the boy's wrists tighter, letting them cut into Chas' fragile skin. He tugged the gag from Chas' mouth, feeling a sick jolt of satisfaction when the teen sobbed his name. His apprentice drew in a wet, shaky breath, tears dripping off his nose and chin.

"John, please."

The exorcist ignored him, grabbing a fistful of Chas' brownish hair in one hand and flicking open a straight razor with the other, making sure the boy got a good look at it. He licked up Chas' throat, kissing and sucking hard enough to leave bruises, marking the flesh with his teeth.

"John," the boy said thickly, struggling to speak. He tried to twist away from the exorcist, who simply held him down and fucked him harder. The razor was starting to trace runes and sigils into his back, delicate lines that immediately welled up with blood. John heard someone screaming, but he didn't think it was Chas. The boy was whispering something, pleading.

"John."

* * *

"John!"

"John! Wake up. Constantine! You're screaming your head off."

Someone was shaking him, John realized. Someone in his room, on his bed, leaning over him and calling his name. The exorcist flailed sleepily, his fists meeting flesh with a resounding smack.

"Fuck! John, c'mon, wake up, you psycho!"

Chas. It was Chas shaking him. It was Chas he'd just hit, Chas he'd just...

John leaned over the edge of the bed and dry-heaved until blood rushed into his mouth. He managed to make it to the bathroom in time to spew it into the sink, feeling as though he'd hacked up a lung. Which isn't exactly out of the question, he thought bitterly.

"John, are you okay?" Chas stood in the doorway wearing only his boxers and the silver charm, rubbing at his cheekbone where a bruise was already forming.

John spat again, foregoing the first seven nasty replies that leapt unbidden into his mouth and saying, "Yeah." Which was obviously a lie, a stupid answer to a stupid question. He brushed his teeth sleepily and looked at the boy in the mirror.

"Are you?"

Chas touched his face again. "I'm okay. John, you were really screaming. I mean, I was way out on the couch and-"

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why were you out on my couch again, Chas? This isn't a fucking hotel."

The teen snorted, watching John walk closer. He tilted his head defiantly and glared up blearily at the older man.

"I needed a place to crash. And you'd already gone to bed, so I didn't want to bother you. And you shouldn't be alone here, John, I mean, what if-"

"What if you had to call the coroner in the morning?" John interrupted again, advancing on the boy.

"Well, really John, most people in your condition are being looked after."

"And what are you, some sort of fucking palliative-care nurse?" John was suddenly too exhausted to care about this. He pushed past Chas and into his bedroom, glancing at the clock. Half-past three. He didn't really want to sleep, though. He'd had enough of that dream.

John crawled back into his bed and set about untangling his sheets enough so that he wasn't horribly uncomfortable. It was disconcerting when the mattress dipped under Chas' weight.

"What do you want now?" The magician raked a hand through his tousled hair and glowered at the boy, who was silhouetted in the dim light from the bathroom. Chas leaned in closer. John thought he smelled liquor on his breath.

"Are you okay, John?" he whispered.

The magician sat up, planning on shoving Chas off his bed and chasing him out of his room, and hell, out of the flat if need be. Why the teen persisted in asking _that_ when he already knew the answer, the real answer, was beyond John's early morning mental capacity. The exorcist heaved a sigh, hating the wheeze that accompanied it.

"No," he stated flatly.

Chas kissed him.

John protested. Or rather, his brain did. How much alcohol did you allow this boy access to? Probably should put a stop to that, John mused, corruption of the youth and all.

The magician opened his mouth to tell Chas to get off of him, but only managed to murmur his apprentice's name before Chas' tongue slid into his mouth and silenced him. The boy tasted like brandy, and John clutched at his shoulders, moving to push the lithe teen away.

At least, that was his plan. In theory.

In practice, John somehow managed to pull Chas down on top of him (again, he thought, exasperated). The teen took this as encouragement, straddling the magician and then using his own strength to flip them over so that he was underneath John. The movement made the exorcist's head spin. He wound up with a face-full of Chas' neck, inadvertently nuzzling the sensitive flesh beneath his ear. Chas gasped, his hands running down John's bare back, his hips jerking upward to press himself hard against John.

"Shit, Chas, this can't happen," John began, trying to fight down the urge to fuck the teen through the mattress. "I don't know why you're acting like this." He started to raise himself up on his arms, the shift in his weight making Chas' breath hitch. And damn, he had to admit he liked that sound. The teen was hard against him, his skin was feverishly hot next to his own, and it would be all too easy to give in. Just a bit.

He shouldn't, though. This was Chas, for christsakes. The right thing would be to get off him... Right... Any second now, John, he thought. Instead he ground his hips down onto Chas, smirking when the boy groaned. Chas' hands slid over the curve of John's boxer-clad ass and struggled to pull him harder against him.

"C'mon, John," he heard the boy mutter in frustration, his breathing out of his control, quick and hitching.

John brought his head lower, ignoring the sense of vertigo the movement caused and kissing gently along Chas' throat. His hands explored the teen's slender frame, caressing Chas' chest and sides. The boy was practically purring as he let his fingers stroke down Chas' smooth taut belly, pausing when the boy nearly sobbed his name.

Like he had earlier. In his dream. But I'm not dreaming now, John thought, puzzled. Chas is really in my bed and... What am I doing, exactly? John shook his head to clear it but only succeeding in making himself feel nauseous. He rolled off Chas, dizzy as all hell, feeling guilty and sick. It was obvious Chas simply was not safe around him.

"John, what's wrong?"

"The way you're acting," John snapped. "The way I'm acting."

"It didn't seem to bother you too much," Chas protested, sounding wounded. "John-"

"Get out, Chas."

"John, you-"

"Now."

Chas sat up and crawled off the bed, folding his arms across his chest to ward off the chill in the room. "You think I'm acting strangely?" He asked thickly. John couldn't read his expression in the dim light, although he certainly seemed anguished. The magician had a twinge of misgiving, but ignored it.

"Either you're being strange or you're drunk. Get out."

"You didn't care a moment ago."

"I wasn't thinking clearly a moment ago. Get out of this room before I kick you out of the flat."

"Can't I talk to you, John?"

"Haha. Go fuck off, Chas."

The bedroom door slammed a moment later.

* * *

Ha, I fail at this. No more alcohol for me... Maybe alcohol for readers if they review? :D


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. Rated M for language and sexual content.

A/N: I should note that I don't make up the names of the books, journals, grimoires, etc. that Chas and John read. They all actually exist, although probably different in form and content than what I describe them as being. Line breaks indicate a change of scene/time/place/perspective/something.

* * *

Chapter Five

_"Am I more than you bargained for yet?  
__I've been dying to tell you anything, you wanna hear  
__'Cause that's just who I am this week..."  
__- Fall Out Boy ("Sugar, We're Going Down")_

There was a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. Chas tugged on his clothes, fumbling in the darkness of the living room. He collected a few of his books from the coffee table; he couldn't read their titles but knew they were his by the way they felt, not belonging to John at all. The teen grabbed his jacket from the coat rack by the door and fled the flat, remembering at the last moment to pull the wards closed behind him.

The lift was still out, so Chas took the stairs two at a time, all the way down. Fluorescent lights flickered eerily overhead, by turns making the stairwell either glaringly bright or almost entirely dark. Except for his sneakers hitting the steps and the buzz of the failing lights, the building was quiet, its atmosphere oppressive. Chas pushed open the double entrance doors and stopped to let himself breathe in the cool night air. He hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath; the teen exhaled with a wavering sigh, hating the sound.

He'd get in shit if he turned up at home at this hour, mostly for the fact that the floor was creaky and would wake up his mother's boyfriend. It wasn't as though his mother cared where he went. As for sleeping in the cab, Chas knew from (decidedly uncomfortable) experience that the three days of neck pain that accompanied it wasn't worth it. He glanced around the empty street, watching dead leaves and bits of newspaper rustle in the breeze. There was absolutely no way he was going back to John's place tonight, he decided. And that settled it: he had nowhere to go.

Chas left his books in the cab and started walking. He turned his collar up against the crisp, early morning air and folded his arms to keep his hands warm. The streets were as deserted as London's ever got; a few delivery trucks were starting to make their rounds, but most of the club-goers had called it a night long ago. This wasn't really the area for that sort of thing, anyway, Chas thought, passing by more corner grocery stores than nightclubs.

The wind picked up, sending garbage rattling down the sidewalk. Chas walked faster, letting the chill of the evening seep into his mind and wipe it clean. The clarity was a sharp contrast to his earlier, alcohol-induced haziness, reminding him that John had thought him drunk. The teen stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. He didn't want to think about John.

Of course, want had little to do with what did or did not occur in his life; Chas had that much figured out by now. He wondered if this was why magicians were so messed up: they were ultimately just glorified control freaks. They had more skills with which to bend the environment surrounding them to their will, and were that much more disappointed when things didn't turn out in the way they intended.

Chas tilted his head back, staring up at the star-less, overcast sky. John was dying, and he, Chas, had fucked up. Royally. But it was hard, impossibly so, to spend day after day watching John get sicker and sicker, and not want to help. It was like being in a room with broken glass on the floor: most people wanted to sweep up the glass before someone got hurt; Chas wanted to put the shards back together and see what they made.

The sky, never truly dark in London, gradually grew brighter. Chas stumbled onward, numb from both anguish and the early morning chill, and nearly asleep on his feet. At last he ducked into a doorway on Cromwell road, sitting down on the cement steps more abruptly than he'd intended. He'd have to move soon; people were waking up and going about their days, and the nearby tube station was already getting crowded. Chas watched three crows fighting over the remains of a less fortunate starling, and decided that maybe if he picked up breakfast to take with him, John wouldn't kill him when he arrived back home.

* * *

John had given up on trying to sleep shortly after hearing Chas leave. He showered quickly, and then paced his flat, lungs burning, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. His apprentice (yes, _his_), shouldn't be behaving like this. The magician raked his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm himself. A lot of strange shit was happening, but wasn't that just his life anyway? He bet his definition of normalcy was a helluva lot weirder than that of anyone working a nine-to-five. But this time the craziness was different; this time he was dying. And didn't that just throw a wrench into all his schemes.

The exorcist forced himself to sit down, immediately fumbling for a cigarette. He lit up and took a drag, hoping it would slow his thoughts down enough that he could observe them and pick them apart. It didn't work. One hour and seven cigarettes later and he was still nowhere near to figuring out Chas' motives. Sure, he had a dozen solid theories on them, but he also had a dozen solid theories on why Beeman liked bugs, and those had never done him any good either.

John got up and flicked on some lights. He decided a trip to see the witchdoctor was in order, even if all he got out of the man was another bottle of knock-you-on-your-ass cough syrup. John tried to stay out of the games that Midnite played for the most part, preferring to do things his own way. He'd always figured that getting too involved with the houngan would get him killed, and he'd assumed that the feeling was mutual. But Midnite was getting pushier of late, and John supposed that there were more things going on in the demonic world than his funeral-party planning. Midnite's neutrality involved a lot more behind-the-scenes string-pulling than the man would ever admit. The facade he presented was one of benign indifference, but in reality, Midnite had a finger in every pot and a knife at every throat.

The magician rubbed the back of his neck at the thought, wondering just what Midnite had planned for Chas and himself. Midnite obviously didn't want him dead, that much he could count on. And his theories on how John could cure himself ostensibly benefited Chas too, in a rather horrid, roundabout way. John saw it as coming down to two options. One: he lived, and Chas got initiated, and then he went to jail when Chas went to the police, and Chas looked after exorcisms as best he could while suffering some extreme psychological problems. Or two: he died, and an uninitiated Chas carried on with his job until his psychic abilities went haywire, or Balthazar snared him, or any other awful thing he could imagine befalling Chas when he didn't have anyone to look out for him.

"Fuck," he muttered, heaving a sigh. He hoped Chas would show up soon, if he showed up at all. I shouldn't have kicked him out, John thought, I should've let him- No. That was not happening. John went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, checking his liquor bottles while he was at it. There weren't any drastic changes in their content, so Chas couldn't have been too drunk. Which made things a helluva lot more complicated. "Fuck." John swore more loudly this time, gulping down the bitter-tasting water.

"Fuck what?" A voice asked from the doorway. John caught a whiff of coffee. He fought down the flood of relief that swept over him at the sight of the voice's owner and tried to make his face expressionless. Chas stood in the doorway, his clothing rumpled, looking like hell. The teen's eyes were surrounded by dark circles and a nasty-looking bruise graced his cheekbone. John winced when he saw it.

"Chas, we need to talk." John gestured for the boy to sit down.

Chas ignored him and stayed standing. After a moment's pause, he spoke. "So you want to talk now, huh?"

"Don't try to be mean, Chas, you're no good at it."

"That's surprising, given who I hang around with." The teen left the two paper cups of coffee on the table and stalked to the bathroom. A few seconds later John heard the shower turn on.

"Make yourself at home, brat-ling," John called softly to the closed door. He picked up one of the cups and took an experimental sip. It was decidedly lacking in the sugar department, and must be Chas', he figured. The second cup was perfect, exactly how he liked it, and didn't that just make him feel like shit.

Chas emerged from the bathroom a while later, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a black _Ramones_ t-shirt that John thought might once have been his own. John waited for him to say something, but the teen simply grabbed the other cup of coffee and headed for the door.

"Chas, wait."

"I'm going to work."

"I need a lift to Midnite's." John finished his coffee and started towards the teen. His apprentice turned, back to the door, frowning.

"Standard rate."

John snatched the coffee from Chas and set it hastily on the counter. He slammed his hands onto the door behind Chas, his arms on either side of the teen's face. John was surprised at himself, he really hadn't intended on getting this close to the boy. I'm going to get my nose broken in a second here, he thought. It'll be even harder to breathe.

"Fuck off, John." Chas glared at him for a moment, then seemed to be disconcerted by their proximity. He set his gaze into the apartment behind John and refused to look at him. C'mon Chas, John thought silently, take a swing. Instead, his apprentice just swallowed nervously, almost like he was trying not to cry. Shit. John leaned his weight onto one hand and used the other to touch the bruise on Chas' face. The teen flinched as John's fingertips slid over his skin, then went very still, eyes fluttering shut.

"Don't," he murmured.

"Should've put some ice on that," John mused, leaning in close.

"Too late now," Chas replied softly.

"Yeah," the exorcist muttered, backing away from the teen as his brain decided to re-engage. What the fuck am I doing?

Chas had the door open as soon as John stepped back. "I'll drop you off at Midnite's. Hurry up," he called, already halfway down the first flight of stairs.

* * *

"C'mon Midnite, I'm trying to do the right thing for once." John loosened his tie and sat back in his chair, trying not to sound petulant. His gaze roamed around Midnite's office, taking in the religious artefacts. The witchdoctor's latest acquisitions included an unassuming _Bodhi_ tree and a Grecian urn. For some reason, it struck John as funny. Midnite's voice, edged with irritation, refocused his attention.

"Sparing Chas and damning the balance of this city because of it is not the right thing, John."

"He can fix things after I'm gone. He'll have to anyway. And he'll be better able to do so if he's not completely emotionally traumatized before I die."

"Tell me, how will an uninitiated teenager, even one as bright and capable as Chas, be able to fill the void you seem to gleefully intend on leaving? It's good that you're training him, good that you're letting him help, but for christsakes, John. It would be a lot fucking better if you didn't let the cancer kill you."

"I am magician, Midnite. Not a goddamn miracle worker. What if I did force Chas into the ritual? Whatever the consequences of that, I could still get hit by a bus the next day. It would all be for nothing."

"John: listen to me." Midnite was getting riled up, John could tell. It didn't show except in the tension of the houngan's hands and voice. John tried fervently not to laugh at the absurdity of having this conversation again. If he did, Midnite would probably kill him himself, and the balance be damned. The exorcist bit the insides of his mouth, praying it didn't show. Having six shots of rum at the bar before entering the office was a stupid idea, he decided.

"Constantine!" Midnite slammed his fist down on the desk, regaining the magician's wandering attention yet again. "I know you," he said softly, calming himself down as quickly as he'd been angered. "I know the things you're capable of, and I know as well as you do exactly where you're going to end up after death. Taking these things into account, I must ask: Why are you protecting Chas when, were he anyone else, you would've sacrificed him already?"

"Midnite-"

"You're a selfish man, John. Even when you're pretending not to be." The witchdoctor handed John a small glass bottle; its contents glittered strangely in the soft lighting of the office. "Get out."

* * *

The flat was quite dark, a light in the kitchen and a small lamp in the living room providing the only illumination. John was spending his evening sitting on the sofa, flipping through the mess of papers on the coffee table. He'd poured himself his fourth glass of whiskey and was pleasantly buzzed when he felt Chas slide through the wards like a whisper of smoke. Figuring the teen was trying to avoid him, he didn't look up, and Chas stayed out in the kitchen. When he heard his apprentice rattle a few bottles, looking for something half decent to drink, he decided to speak.

"I think it would be best for all of us if you stayed the hell out of my liquor cabinet, Chas."

All he got in reply was a muffled sounding 'Fuck you' and the sound of glass being placed un-gently on the countertop. "Don't break anything," he muttered, picking up a bunch of envelopes and setting them to one side. He passed over three American spiritualist tracts on exorcism (deliverance, they called it) and the latest edition of _Abraxas_, looking for the utilities bills and organizing them into a pile. He'd make sure they were paid off: one less thing for Chas to worry about. He should switch the names on his subscriptions as well, if Chas wanted to keep them.

"How do you feel about the_ New Equinox_?" He ventured, hoping Chas' natural curiosity would prevent him from being ignored. "Or the _Lamp of Thoth_? I think _Ultraculture_'s gone the way of _Barbelith_, but there's always _Chaos International_ if you wanted to keep up with all the latest mind games."

"What?" Chas appeared from around the corner, a bottle clenched in his fist. John grinned, and the teen realized he'd been tricked.

"Fuck off, John."

"Come here, Chas. Your opinions are valid and necessary."

"Don't mock me, Constantine."

"I'm not. Or at least, I'm trying not to. You make it difficult, sometimes."

"Stop trying to be funny." Chas had a strange expression on his face. He ducked back into the kitchen for a second to grab a glass, then sat sprawled beside John on the sofa. "What do you want?"

"Do you wish to continue subscribing to any of these illustrious journals? I'd keep _Abraxas_, if nothing else. There's often a nice pair of tits on the cover."

"I don't care. Whatever." Chas took a sip of his drink (he'd apparently found a bottle of Chartreuse that John had long ago abandoned any hope of stomaching) and winced. "Are you drunk?" he asked abruptly.

"Not nearly enough."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," John waved a hand benignly, misinterpreting the teen intentionally. "I've got a whole crate of gin somewhere in this dump."

Chas rolled his eyes. "No, John, I'm sorry. About last night."

"Are you sure?" John refused to make this any easier. "You don't seem very sorry to me. Pissed off, maybe."

His apprentice watched him with a pained expression. "John-"

"You shouldn't have kissed me."

The teen couldn't help looking indignant, despite himself. "Why not?"

"For a hundred legitimate reasons, Chas, not least of which is the fact that I'm practically a dead man. You have no idea what you're starting, or the consequences. Hell, I don't even know why you did it; it didn't seem like something you would do. I could be completely misinterpreting this whole thing, and still it wouldn't end well for you." John finished his whiskey and poured another. He saw something like resolve forming in the boy's eyes, and wondered how much longer he'd be able to match wits with him.

"I'm not scared of you, John." Chas looked ready to put up a fight.

"You should be. Think about it. My friends drop like flies. How much longer do you think you have, Chas?"

"I already knew a lot of your friends are dead."

"You don't find that odd? Disconcerting?"

"It's not like you killed them."

"Chas. That is exactly how it is."

"So what, you're moonlighting as a serial killer and I just didn't notice it?"

"Don't laugh." John's voice was icy. "They're all dead, and it's my fault. Because it came down to them or me, and I chose me. I always choose me. And I don't understand why you're still here, knowing that. I don't know why I try to make you understand it." He paused. "It'd be better for me if you didn't."

"John-"

The exorcist silenced Chas with a glare. They sat quietly for a moment, trying to figure each other out and failing miserably. John finished his drink and poured yet another, careful not to spill any on the papers that littered the coffee-table. It was difficult; he'd been drinking all day. Chas was working his way through the hundred-proof herbal liqueur with surprising alacrity; he hadn't even put ice in it. John watched the teen's larynx move in his throat as he swallowed.

Chas caught him looking. Emotions flickered across the boy's face: anger, and then a sort of embarrassed vulnerability. He took off his hat and sat it and his glass carefully on the table. The teen muttered something under his breath, turning away.

"What was that?"

"I said, I don't get you."

John snorted, bravely resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. "I'm sure you do more than most people, Chas."

"Not like that." Chas gestured expressively, reminding John of how much alcohol they'd both consumed. "I mean, I don't know what you want..." The teen trailed off, suddenly fascinated by his fingernails.

"You shouldn't be worried about what I want." John caught Chas under the chin, making the teen look at him. "You're not responsible for me." His apprentice felt almost feverishly warm, and John realized his mistake in an instant. Chas leaned into his touch, turning to wrap his arms around John's neck. He hooked one leg over his thighs, and settled onto John's lap. The part of John's brain that wasn't entirely pickled in alcohol made a half-hearted protest.

"Chas. I thought we discussed this. I'm not... I'm not good for you."

His apprentice shifted his weight slightly, bracing himself on John's shoulders and moving around until he was comfortable. The contact left John half-aroused. His hands came up involuntarily to support Chas' lower back, sliding under the teen's t-shirt. Chas leaned in closer, and John basked in his warmth, his hands rubbing small circles over Chas' smooth skin. Chas started to unbutton John's shirt, nuzzling and kissing the skin he exposed.

"Chas. We should really stop this, before it goes any further, okay?"

His apprentice eyed him dubiously for a moment, his hazel eyes dark in the dim light. He slid his tongue along John's throat, making the magician clench his fists in the boy's shirt.

"That's not fair. I knew you were more pissed off than sorry. And you are drunk tonight, so hands off."

"I'll let go when you do, John." Chas sounded almost wistful, his fingers clutching the exorcist's collar. He refused to look at the older man.

John realized he had a white-knuckle grip on Chas' shirt, his arms wrapped around the teen. He pulled his apprentice closer to him and inhaled deeply, the scent of sandalwood and cedar filling his aching lungs. "I'm sorry," he muttered against Chas' shoulder. He didn't think he'd apologized to anyone before.

* * *

Your thoughts/comments/complaints are always appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. Rated M for language and sexual content.

A/N: If you find issues of spelling or continuity, please let me know (and be specific, so when I finish this and go back to revise everything, I'll be better able to sort things out, lol). Line breaks indicate a change of scene/time/place/perspective/something. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to alerts/faves. Makes me happy! :D

* * *

Chapter Six

_"I went out into the night  
__I went out to find some light...  
__Kids are dying under snow,  
__Look at 'em go, look at 'em go..."  
__- The Arcade Fire ("Neighbourhood #3 Power Out")_

John didn't know how long he let Chas stay on his lap; the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed that day made him more tolerant than he'd ordinarily be. He wanted to let Chas stay there, hell, there were a lot of things he wanted when it came to Chas, but there was no way this could work. And fuck, he'd even apologized to the kid. For what, he wasn't sure. For refusing his advances? Or for not being able to protect him? Or even for foolishly clinging to him just now like the teen was some sort of life-raft? John's pickled brain couldn't provide an answer.

The exorcist realized his hands were still fisted in Chas' shirt, and hurriedly removed them. His determination to not show any vulnerability in front of Chas had melted under the onslaught on liquor, and John struggled to get his mind to work again. God only knew what he'd rambled on about earlier. It was no wonder Chas felt the need to look after him; he was becoming more of a mess every day.

"Alright," he began, feeling he should begin to dislodge the teen from his lap before anything else happened. Chas' breath was warm against his ear, and John could feel soft lips pressed to his throat. "I mean it, Chas. Hands off." It took all of John's concentration to keep from slurring his words together, and all of his willpower to keep his fingers from exploring his apprentice's lithe frame. Chas smelt of evergreens and spice and Chartreuse, and was, by this point, very obviously drunk.

It would only be a matter of time before Chas threw up on him, some part of John's brain warned. He slid his hands up Chas' back and gripped the teen's shoulders, trying to figure out a way to push him away without adding to his bruises or damaging the furniture. John felt Chas' tongue flick against his skin, the sensation wet and scorching.

"Chas," he began, but the boy chose that moment to start speaking, too.

"There's gotta be a way," Chas mumbled against him. He shifted his weight a bit, making John hiss.

"What?"

"There's got to be a way for this to work," Chas stated again, only slightly more clearly. His arms slid further around John's neck, pulling the man closer to him so that their bodies were flush together. Chas was lean and flat-muscled, and, as always, warm to the touch.

"What are you babbling about, Chas? There is no _this_, just like there is no _us_."

"No, I mean, that's not what I meant at all, John," Chas slurred, half his words muffled against John's collar. "I mean, there's a way to fix this. Stupid not to try."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Get off my lap," the exorcist mumbled, head fogged with liquor. He collected his resolve and made a real effort, gripping Chas' shoulders more firmly. The teen leaned back a bit, his lips slightly swollen. He regarded John with the complacency of a drunkard, his hazel eyes dark and hooded. John wondered how many brain cells the poor kid had lost already. Not nearly as many as he himself had, he decided.

"C'mon. Off." John stated as authoritatively as he could. Chas grinned at him but was willing to listen. He rolled gracelessly to his right, flopping down onto the sofa, his legs still across John's lap. The magician crawled out from under them, using the back of the sofa to balance himself. His vision doubled, and if he weren't so determined to sleep in his own bed, _alone_, he would've just followed Chas' lead and crashed on the couch.

Chas yawned, sprawled out on his back. Part of John's brain insisted he climb on top of the youth and strip him, but he managed to suppress it. His apprentice looked up at him with bleary eyes, apparently having as much trouble focusing as John was.

"You're gonna hurt in the morning, Chas. I've never seen you this drunk."

Chas snorted. "You're one to talk." He squinted at the exorcist. "What's your excuse? And don't say, 'I don't have to explain myself to you.' That pisses me off."

John rolled his eyes. Or tried to. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. He sat back down on the edge of the sofa, trying to rally himself to stumble back to his bedroom. Chas took advantage of their proximity and immediately began to toy with the small buttons on John's shirt sleeve.

"What do you dream about, John?" The boy asked abruptly, as though he hadn't been quite sure how to phrase it, but the alcohol had blurted it out for him.

"What?" John snapped, feeling dread begin to coil down his spine. "What do you mean by that, Chas?" These were the times when John wondered about Chas, and just how many psychic abilities the teen possessed. Encouraging people to underestimate him was a talent that John had cultivated in his youth. He doubted Chas was sneaky enough to do the same on purpose.

"Huh?" Chas yawned again and buried his face in the dusty cushions of the sofa. John moved to shake him, to make the teen focus and answer his question. He grabbed Chas' shirt, but his apprentice chose that moment to begin snoring softly, and John decided they could deal with this tomorrow, after they'd sobered up and could see straight again. Provided he could remember anything.

* * *

Chas woke up with a pounding headache. He raised his head and peered around blearily, hazel eyes stinging in the midmorning light. His back and shoulders were tense and filled with knots from sleeping on John's sofa. The teen groaned and clutched at his temples, wishing he'd thought to close the blinds before falling asleep. If anything could make a hangover worse, it was sunlight.

Chas attempted to stand up with a courage he hadn't known he possessed. He staggered a bit, but managed to keep his balance all the way to the shower. The water was icy cold, but for once that was okay. It eased his headache a bit, enough that he could ignore it with only a little effort. He was almost feeling okay as he climbed out of the shower and stumbled to the sink to brush his teeth. Glancing in the mirror was a mistake, though. Chas looked exhausted, and his cheek still sported a faded bruise.

He rummaged around the washroom cabinet, looking for some clean clothes. Half of the stuff he owned was in John's flat, somewhere, and the rest divided between his mother's apartment and the cab. It didn't take long to find something to wear, and eventually Chas stumbled from the bathroom to the kitchen, making sure to be quiet lest John wake up and kill him. John, he was certain, had had much more to drink last night than he had.

The teen's stomach twitched unnervingly at the thought of food, but Chas was sure it could handle coffee. He set the kettle to boil and found a jar of instant coffee in the freezer, getting out two ceramic mugs almost automatically. John would want caffeine eventually. The youth looked at the pair of cheap cups blearily, and was suddenly struck by the thought that his days having coffee with John were extremely limited in number. Sooner or later, quite possibly sooner, it was just going to be him. And didn't that just hurt like hell.

He wiped the tears away swiftly, knowing John would mock him for them. The water boiled shortly after, and Chas took his coffee and headed back to the couch. He set the cup down on the coffee-table amidst the mess of papers and tugged the blinds closed before sitting down. He hadn't really paid attention to what John had been doing with all this paperwork last night. John had muttered about subscriptions, or prescriptions, or something.

Chas picked up a handful of paper, feeling that it wasn't really snooping because John had asked his opinion on them earlier. He skimmed the papers, immediately wishing he hadn't bothered. John had cancelled a lot of his subscriptions, and he'd had quite a few: Occult and anthropological journals, an archaeological review, lots of stuff on ancient history and religion, even a few pagan newsletters. The rest of them he'd renewed, to the flat's address but in Chas' name. _Chas Kramer_ was scrawled on each page in John's horridly sharp handwriting, and John's own name crossed out, sometimes viciously, in black ink.

Sorting through the rest of the papers only got worse. Bills were neatly stacked, and what little documentation John kept on exorcisms he'd performed was organized and labeled. Chas found four copies, in sealed envelopes, of John's last will and testament. His name was on one; the others were addressed to Midnite, Beeman, and a woman Chas assumed was John's sister. Chas set the envelopes aside, not even curious about their contents. He already knew most of what was written within them.

Chas' vision blurred for the second time that morning. He didn't want John's things. He wanted John. The man's own stubbornness was killing him as much as the cancer was, Chas decided. As if on cue, he heard John start coughing in the other room. One minute and a dozen expletives later, the exorcist trudged into the bathroom and started the shower running.

Chas waited, making a pretense of reading a book. He stared at the pages blindly, waiting. John reappeared, freshly showered and looking, if not well-rested, then at least less exhausted than he had been the night before. The magician finished buttoning his shirt as he entered the room, sitting down in his chair and watching Chas intently.

"What book?" He asked eventually, sounding bored. John sank back into his chair and lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving his apprentice.

"_The Grimoire of Cyprian_," Chas replied, reading it off the title page. He wondered what John would do if he crawled on him this morning. Possibly gut him with a kitchen knife. The man was impossible; angry one minute and nearly apologetic the next. He'd let Chas into his bed and then thrown him out scarcely ten minutes later. Chas pushed John's indecisiveness from his mind. There was no use torturing himself over it, not when John seemed so willing to do that for him.

"Did you decide what you wanted for journal subscriptions?" John gestured at the papers in front of them.

The teen shook his head, his throat suddenly closing up and preventing any verbal response. He turned away to hide his reaction, but John had already seen it.

"Don't be like that, Chas."

"Then how should I be?" Chas choked out the words, his eyes studying the floor.

John shifted a bit in his chair, taking a drag on his smoke. He didn't answer the teen.

It was Beeman, surprisingly, that saved them from further awkwardness. The thin, scruffy man knocked on the flat's door a few minutes later, and Chas, grateful for a distraction, rushed to let him in and make coffee for the three of them. John lazily cleared away the piles of papers, and Beeman dropped a cardboard box onto the coffee-table and began to rummage through it excitedly.

"A virtual glut of holy water on the market these days, John," he began, taking the small vials out and setting them aside. "Someone in Glastonbury has discovered the economic potential, for sure."

Chas sipped his second cup of coffee and watched the two men. They contrasted well with each other. Beeman was as spastic and twitchy as the insects he obsessed over; he seemed to flutter even when standing in place. John was so still that it was almost startling to see him reach for his wallet to pay for the supplies. John met Chas' gaze with a glance that clearly stated that he'd noticed him looking.

"Did you find the _Verum_ for Chas?" The magician asked Beeman, handing the man a wad of pound notes. Beeman turned to the teen and grinned, pulling a paper-wrapped book from the box and handing it to Chas.

"No promises that it's not a forgery, though. I've never seen a copy that could be guaranteed as completely authentic."

"Thanks," Chas took the grimoire and began unwrapping it. It smelled strongly of mildew and old leather, and felt as though it might crumble in his hands if he weren't gentle with it.

"How'd the Pimlico exorcism go?" Beeman asked, finishing his coffee and picking up the box. He headed towards the door, his personality too high strung and nervous to allow him to stay in one place and relax very long. Chas thought it was cruel of John to give the man caffeine all the time, when it was clear Beeman was already jittery enough. Knowing John, the magician just probably thought it was funny.

"About as well as any of them go," John stated noncommittally. "No one died." He added, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Hennessy's been saying there's demonic activity out by King's Cross. Midnite wants it looked into."

"I'm not Midnite's employee." A pause. "And neither is Chas."

The teen carefully arranged his face so the grin didn't show. "Doesn't it interfere with Midnite's neutrality when he sends John exorcism jobs?"

Beeman turned to answer, gesturing excitedly. "You know how it is with him. He doesn't care about half-breeds walking around, but full possessions piss him off. They tip the balance, according to him. And he's worried, John."

"I saw him yesterday. He only wanted to talk about Chas."

Beeman sighed. "I really don't know what else to tell you, John. That's all I know." He balanced the box on one arm and reached into his pocket with the other, pulling out a small bottle of cough syrup. He handed it to John abruptly, and was out the door a moment later.

"Thanks, Beeman." John yelled after the departing man. He opened the bottle and took a swig, grimacing as the viscous liquid slid into his mouth.

Chas waited till John had sat back down in his chair before folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the older man.

"What did Midnite say about me?" He asked, feeling slightly pissed off that John would keep the witchdoctor's interests from him. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. John had more secrets than anyone else Chas knew.

"Nothing you want to hear, Chas." John took a long drag on his smoke, starting to sort through the relics Beeman had left.

"Tell me anyway," Chas snapped before he could stop himself. His head still felt woozy from his hangover. He wondered how John felt; hopefully not murderously enraged.

John glanced at him, irritated. "He thinks that, instead of simply initiating you, I should change the ritual and combine it with a sacrificial one."

Chas blinked as he processed this information. It seemed to be the same thing John and Midnite had spoken of the last time he'd been in houngan's office. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what else he'd overheard that day. "I was under the impression that you wouldn't be the one to initiate me anyway."

John scrutinized him for a moment. "Yes. I've no intention of performing either rite." He said slowly, still watching Chas.

"Why not, though? For the initiation, at least?" Chas asked hurriedly, seeing John begin to bristle.

"Because one could easily lead to the other." John stood up, stretching as though his back was aching.

"The rituals are completely different. How could one possibly lead into the other?"

John exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "If I let them."

"You wouldn't though, John."

"You have no idea what I would or would not do. Best not tempt fate. You'll be fine without the initiation for another year or so at least."

"And will you be fine without the sacrifice?" Chas' tone revealed his frustrations. He knew bringing up this topic was suicidal, but he couldn't help himself. "No, of course not. You'll die, and I-"

"Chas." John's voice was cold, and the teen knew he'd crossed a line. The man's hands were clenched into fists, and Chas wondered for a moment if John would actually hit him. The magician seemed to struggle internally for a minute, then regain control. He sat down beside Chas on the sofa, making sure to leave some space between them.

"Chas," John began again, stifling a cough. "Don't even begin to suggest you would submit to that ritual. You have no idea… Did you think it was just tantric sex? If someone performed that rite, you wouldn't be _you_ anymore. That's the nature of the sacrifice. Not what's gained, but what is lost. Why would… I mean, what…" John couldn't finish.

Chas stared at the man. He'd never seen John so obviously rattled. The magician took a deep, wheezing breath and glared back at him.

"John, I-"

"I don't want to hear any more about it. Get your keys."

* * *

Chas didn't know why John had bothered bringing him into Midnite's office at all. For all that he'd been acknowledged in the past half hour, he might as well have stayed in the cab. The teen wandered the spacious room, touching each of the artifacts that littered the space. Some gave off clearer vibes than others. A few were so holy they practically glowed, while others seemed to crackle and spark with power under Chas' fingertips.

At Midnite's desk, sitting across from each other, the houngan and the magician argued. They kept their voices low to feign a measure of civility, but Chas could tell both men were pissed off. They'd been speaking of the recent increase in demonic activity, and the disappearances of several powerful psychics. It was new to Chas, but that didn't really surprise him. John's approaching death dulled him to anyone else's troubles.

The real fight had begun when Midnite had brought up John's plans for the future. John had bristled, and Midnite had clenched his hands into fists, and Chas had started to feel his headache returning with all the tension that enveloped the office. He'd put some space between himself and the men, walking lazily around the room. After hearing his name mentioned a couple of times, the teen sauntered back to the desk and sat down beside John.

"Things will work out. Somehow," John seemed to be wrapping up his argument. He hadn't said much to Chas on the way over, and had ignored him since they'd arrived. John was angry with him, Chas was sure, but that wasn't exactly anything new. The teen pulled his cab keys out his pocket and managed to drop them onto the tile floor, effectively catching Midnite's attention.

"And how does Chas feel about this?" The witchdoctor asked, directing his query to John. Chas scowled.

"It doesn't matter how he feels about it," John snapped. "He'll deal with it."

Chas rolled his eyes. It went unnoticed. "I'll be in the cab." It wasn't as though he was learning anything useful here.

The teen left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. He walked out into the main area of the club, silent and mostly empty at this time of day. Tables ringed the edge of the room, with booths set back into the walls. The air was stale, a mixture of alcohol and sulfur. A few women sat at the bar, drinking cheap wine and reading Tarot cards, but other than that the club was devoid of life. Chas would've given almost anything to set foot in this place during its nighttime hours. John only brought him here during the day.

He looked around, taking in the huge speakers and long strands of colourful lights. A set of stairs led off the main room, and Chas ambled towards them. He probably wouldn't get another chance to explore this place anytime soon.

The first floor was as disappointing as the empty club below it. The first door Chas tried led into a large VIP lounge, overlooking the main area of the club. The next few were bathrooms, and storage rooms, and one room that was very obviously the 'back room' of the club, the walls painted black and the lights all red. Chas stepped swiftly out of the room and hurriedly closed the door.

The teen climbed another flight of stairs and found a corridor, much the same as the one underneath it. He tried every door, finding most of them locked. He could've applied a bit of psychic 'encouragement' to open them, but Chas thought that would actually be snooping, not exploring. The fifth door down was unlocked, and Chas opened it and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, with a large table in the center surrounded by chairs. It looked much like an office boardroom, and Chas was turning to leave when the bookcase at the end of the room caught his eye. He'd taken three steps towards it when he heard the door click shut behind him.

Chas spun around, starting to apologize for his intrusion before he saw who it was. A tall, tanned man with red-violet eyes stood blocking the door, a cruel smirk marring his otherwise handsome face.

"Hello, Chas." Balthazar purred. He touched the heavy door behind him, and the bolt slid into place, locking it.

"Fuck you," Chas snarled, a tight coil of panic starting to form in his chest. He grabbed the chair nearest him and threw it towards the demon, knowing it wouldn't do any damage but hoping it would make enough noise for someone to come investigate. He doubted it would work; it was likely that every room on this floor of the nightclub was soundproofed.

"Relax." The demon stepped closer, smoothing his suit. "There's no need to make any fuss."

"Yeah?" Chas backed away, trying to keep his distance, but Balthazar followed. With preternatural speed he reached out and knocked off Chas' hat, grabbing a fistful of the teen's hair and yanking his head back. Chas thrashed and kicked, managing to land a few solid punches on the demon's too-smooth skin before a knife was put to his throat. The boy hissed as it sliced into his flesh, and gasped as Balthazar pulled the blade away abruptly. The silver charm John had given him dropped to the floor with a faint ping, its chain snapped.

"There. That's better," Balthazar leered at the teen, the knife disappearing with a flick of his wrist. "Don't you think so, Chas?"

* * *

Let me know what you think. :D


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. Rated M for language, violence, and sexual content. There is **non-consensual** **content** in this chapter.

A/N: Um… So we meet again, lol. And I am sorry for the wait; I just could not get this chapter right. It's still not right, but I thought I should update anyway, so people wouldn't think I'd forgotten this fic.

* * *

Chapter Seven

_Let me wrap myself around you  
__Let you show me how I see  
__And when you come back in from nowhere  
__Do you ever think of me?  
__- The Killers ("My List")_

Chas was not in the cab.

John stood on the pavement, looking at the run-down vehicle, a cigarette raised halfway to his mouth. Chas had left Midnite's office, what, half an hour ago? The street was busy, crowded with traffic. Throngs of pedestrians wandered the sidewalks, weaving around each other in strange patterns that the magician couldn't comprehend. The wind was chill as it whipped around him, and John scanned face after face, searching for a sign. Of what, he wasn't sure.

A moment later, he turned on his heel and rushed back into the club.

* * *

All Chas could taste was blood. He gasped and clutched at a chair, trying to haul himself back to his feet. He was dizzy in the presence of Balthazar's fiery aura, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of oppressive, psychic malice that permeated the room. The teen's bottom lip was split where the demon had backhanded him. Chas swallowed inadvertently, giving up on the chair and scrambling backwards across the floor. He staggered to his feet, still trying to put more distance between himself and Balthazar.

The half-breed adjusted the sleeves of his pinstripe suit-jacket, lazily following the teen. He watched Chas flounder, his cruel mouth curved in a thin, vicious smile. The charm he'd cut off the boy lay between them; a fleck of glittering silver on the glossy hardwood floor.

"An interesting enchantment on that one, Chas. Not Johnny's usual work, eh?" Mockery tainted the demon's silky voice, but Chas noted that Balthazar took care to avoid the pentagram. The teen touched his neck, the wound shallow but stinging. Chas' eyes never left the half-breed; he knew he was no match for the demon. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, furious with himself for not being more careful. Balthazar moved closer inexorably, and Chas felt a knot of fear tighten in his chest.

The lanky youth took another step back and bumped into the far wall of the room. He hadn't expected it to be that close. Knowing he was cornered, Chas risked a glance to his left, searching for something that would help. Midnite's club was filled with strange paraphernalia; was it too much to ask that this room contained something useful? Chas' gaze swept over to the bookcase. He'd be satisfied with a letter-opener at this point, so long as he could use it against Balthazar. The teen took a half-step closer to the bookcase, looking back at the demon in time to see the distance closed between them.

Balthazar was on him in a heartbeat, grabbing Chas' arm in an iron-like grip and twisting it harshly behind the boy. Chas yelped and swore. He managed to land a punch with his free hand, but he was off balance and couldn't put his weight into it. Balthazar simply turned away from the blow, wrenching Chas' arm painfully. The demon threw the boy forward, pinning him facedown against the polished table.

"I believe I said that there was no need to make a fuss, Chas," Balthazar hissed in the boy's ear. "There's no need to be so uncivilized." Balthazar seemed far heavier than a man of his build could possibly be, and his grip was hard as steel. Chas thrashed against the demon, but Balthazar simply tightened his grasp on the teen's forearm, threatening to break the bones.

Chas gasped and stopped struggling, trying to think clearly through the demon's influence and his own rising panic. "Get your hands off me, asshole," he blurted, regretting his words when Balthazar chuckled.

"Mouthy, aren't you? John certainly hasn't taught you any manners. But not to worry, I'll be more than happy to do that for him." A tidal wave of diabolic malevolence crashed over the teen, enveloping him completely. It felt like being drowned in scalding water, and for a moment Chas almost begged for mercy, choking back the words just in time. Such a request would be pointless, and he wasn't about to give Balthazar the satisfaction of hearing him ask.

Chas tensed as a cold blade was pressed to his throat. Balthazar relinquished his grip on Chas' arm, lifting his weight off the boy enough that Chas was able to take a deep breath of the sulphur-scented air. A moment later a hand fisted in his hair and dragged him upright. Chas didn't fight this time, mindful of his already wounded neck. The knife worried him; surely the half-breed preferred to take his prey apart with hateful words and damning ideas? Chas exhaled shakily, and the demon smirked at him, pleased with the teen's submission.

"Take off your coat," Balthazar ordered. Chas didn't move. He fought the urge to run, knowing he'd get his throat slit if he did. After half a minute, Balthazar prompted him with the blade, and Chas slowly lifted his hands and tugged off the denim jacket, dropping it to the floor. Balthazar's hand slid out of Chas' hair and moved to the back of the teen's neck, a scalding contrast to the chill of the knife.

"And your shirt, pet." The half-breed was grinning openly now, able to sense the teen's distress. His breath was warm against Chas' ear, and his strange eyes gleamed brightly. Chas fumbled with the shirt's buttons, hating how his fingers trembled. He fought to think clearly, trying to push the rage and fear from his mind. Somehow, he hoped, John would suspect that something was amiss. Chas shrugged off his shirt, tossing it after the jacket. Nausea was starting to swirl in his belly, and he idly wondered what would happen if he puked all over Balthazar's expensive leather shoes.

"Now, put your hands together in front of you, fingers intertwined." Chas found himself obeying the demon's words before he could stop himself. He laced his fingers together, realizing that he was being ensorcelled. He tried to yank his hands apart, but they refused to do so, remaining as close as if he'd been bound. _C'mon_, he thought, _it's just a spell. I only think I can't get my hands apart. It's all in my head. _Panic bubbled up inside him, and Chas fought against it, determined to keep his mind even as his hands shook and Balthazar's grip tightened on his throat.

The half-breed smiled at him, showing too many teeth. Chas glared back defiantly. This seemed to amuse Balthazar. He tucked the knife away and slid his free hand over the smooth, pale skin of Chas' chest. Chas flinched, but only a little, and the demon dropped his hand to caress Chas' flat belly. The boy gritted his teeth, hating how his breath hitched at the touch.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" The grip on Chas' throat relaxed as Balthazar seemed to gain more control over John's apprentice. Chas shivered as the warm hands roamed his body, waiting for his chance. He had no idea what Balthazar wanted with him, other than the notion that harming him was a good way to strike at Constantine. Chas didn't know why the demon was bothering, really, if John would be dead before the seasons changed again.

Chas fought down his panic and forced himself to focus. He should run. He should run right now while that knife was out of sight, just haul ass as fast as he could towards the door. Chas looked at his hands, each gripping the other tightly, his knuckles white. _It's just a suggestion. My hands are free. Now run!_ Chas took one step and staggered, feeling as though he was trying to walk through wet cement. _It's just a spell. I can run. _His legs protested, but the teen pressed on, determined to at least _try_ to get away before Balthazar stopped him.

The half-breed snorted in amusement, gripping Chas' upper arm firmly to hold the teen still. Blunt fingernails were raked down Chas' chest and stomach, leaving angry red welts. The youth twisted away, spitting on the demon and wrenching his arm from his grasp. It hurt, but he was free, for a moment at least. Chas made himself lunge forward again, stumbling as his feet refused to cooperate. He licked his lips and tasted fresh blood, and if that wasn't motivation to run for it, nothing was.

Leaning on a chair for support, he managed to get half-way to the door before Balthazar caught his shoulder. He was thrown against the heavy table again, all the air in his lungs leaving in a whoosh. Chas gasped in pain, trying to curl up around himself. The demon's proximity made him feel as though he was being suffocated by magma. His legs barely held him, and his arms were nearly useless, stretched out on the table in front of him. _Where the fuck is John?_

"Really, Chas?" Balthazar purred, right in his ear. Chas turned away, his head spinning. The demon was much too close, his aura overwhelming. Balthazar's fingers stroked down his spine, and Chas shivered in revulsion. He _had_ to get out of here. Now. He pushed backwards off the table, shoving himself away from it. His useless legs promptly failed him, and he landed on his back on the floor. The half-breed leered down at him, carefully smoothing his suit.

"Your refusals are beginning to irritate me, pet." He purred softly, red eyes glinting.

"Refusals?" Chas hissed. "Fuck you." He was glad his hands were entwined, so the demon couldn't see them shake. _Any time now, John._

"You don't know what you're messing with, Chas." Balthazar stepped closer. "If only you'd listen, you-"

Chas spat at him again, earning himself another hard hit to the face. The half-breed seemed truly angry now, his aura spiking and crackling in the air around him. Balthazar kicked the boy's legs apart, crouching down between them to fumble with Chas' belt. Panic leapt up the apprentice's throat, and Chas bit down on his already bloodied lip to keep from yelping. The teen thrashed and kicked, trying not to sob as Balthazar deftly unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down the zipper.

He lost the battle when an impossibly warm hand slid into his pants, reaching down his boxers to wrap around his sex. Tears brightened his eyes, and he exhaled shakily, wishing fervently that this wasn't happening. Wishing, like wanting, had little effect on reality. Chas clenched his eyes shut, deciding that if he couldn't prevent this, then at least he could retreat into the depths of his mind. He could run far away from this, he decided, deep into his subconscious. Balthazar slapped him.

"Don't go wandering off now, pet." The fingers left his body; Balthazar used both hands to grasp Chas' jeans and pull them down. All the while he murmured to Chas, a soft, vitriolic diatribe that sounded sometimes like English and sometimes like ritualistic Hell-Speak. Chas tried not to listen, thinking instead of attempting to knee the demon in the face. It was hard to focus when every fibre of his being screamed at him to get up and run away. He dug his fingernails into the backs of his hands until he drew blood, hoping his own white-knuckled grip would unlock itself. It didn't. Chas took a ragged, gasping breath and choked on sulphur.

The teen opened his eyes in time to see the knife reappear in Balthazar's hand. He wrenched his body away from the descending blade, not seeing the lustful look on the demon's face change into an angry scowl. A gunshot exploded above him, sounding like it was right in his ear. Warm, cloying mist floated through the air, settling onto the floor and painting it crimson. Balthazar, the blade still lodged in his hand, toppled backwards off of him.

John's voice, sounding tight and enraged, drifted over to him. "Shit. Chas, c'mon. That'll only stop him for a minute or two." The exorcist might've said more, but a coughing fit overtook him. He squatted beside Chas, grabbing the teen's entwined hands and pulling them apart. The exorcist cursed as his gaze swept over the boy's nearly nude form, eyes narrowed in anger.

Chas found himself pulled roughly to his feet, clutching at one of the chairs when John's hands abruptly left him. He could only gaze numbly as the magician swiftly picked up his shirt and jacket, setting them on the table next to the trembling boy. John found the silver charm on the floor, surrounded by spatters of Chas' blood, and carefully picked it up.

Chas felt John's eyes on him as he tugged his jeans up over his hips. He could not get the fly done up. His hands shook too much, and he was humiliated that he'd been so weak. He flinched as four more shots rang out; John adding to the rounds already in Balthazar's body. Where would John have gotten a handgun? Unhallowed, they were next to useless against demons. Chas watched as the older man tucked the weapon into his coat and approached him again, carrying his hat. He could only stare stupidly as John brushed his hands away and buttoned his jeans for him. And that, more than anything, made him want to weep.

* * *

To say that John was pissed off would be like saying the ocean was wet. The magician could barely see straight as he propelled Chas out to the cab, commandeering one of Midnite's bar staff to drive them home. Balthazar had started to move as they'd left the boardroom, and John had emptied the last of his clip into the demon's head. It wouldn't kill the half-breed, but that didn't matter. John would see to that later.

Chas was his main concern at the moment. He hadn't said a word since John had found him, and had done little more than allow himself to be pushed into the back of his own cab. John climbed in beside him, his lungs aching painfully, and snarled out the directions to his flat. The bartender, a thin woman with perfect mocha skin, rolled her eyes and stepped on the gas.

The drive was silent for the most part, with John able to suppress the worst of his coughing fits. He watched Chas uneasily, rage rising like bile in his throat. The teen was curled up on the seat, his arms wrapped around his legs. His eyes, barely focused, were looking out the window. John wondered if Chas wasn't talking because of the stranger's presence, or simply because he couldn't, right now. When they reached John's building, the exorcist thrust enough cash at the woman to get her a cab back to Midnite's and tugged Chas after him through the door.

Miraculously, the lift was back in order, and John strode towards it quickly, one hand locked around Chas' upper arm. There was no way he would've been able to get the both of them up all those flights of stairs. A minute later he shoved Chas into his flat and slammed the door shut behind them. The teen didn't even startle at the noise, and John swiftly re-set the wards. He led the boy to the living room, sitting him down on the sofa. Chas acquiesced, his gaze fixed on the floor. Blood roared in John's ears.

He wanted to scream at Chas for being so fucking stupid, for wandering off in a decidedly unsafe building and nearly getting raped. He wanted to demand answers from the boy, to find out how Balthazar had managed to ensnare him, and why a simple suggestion spell had bound someone as strong as Chas. He didn't know who infuriated him more at the moment; Balthazar for daring to touch what was his, or Chas for making him feel so helpless. John glared at the boy seated before him.

He hit Chas, hard but open-fisted, across the face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" John growled, his voice strained with the anger that had already escaped his control. The teen's liquid hazel eyes found his own, and John was faced with the sudden urge to beat Chas bloody. He abruptly turned on his heel and forced himself to head for the kitchen. Halfway there, he put his fist into the wall, smashing the plaster onto the floor. Swearing and muttering imprecations upon everything he could think of, the exorcist snatched a bottle of whiskey off the counter. He opened it and took a swig, catching movement in the corner of his eye.

"Oh no you don't," he snarled at Chas, seeing the boy take a few steps towards the door. "You're going to stay where you're supposed to, for once." John headed back towards his apprentice, the bottle gripped tightly in his fingers. Chas' hands were clenched into fists, and John wondered idly if Chas had planned on hitting him in retaliation. The lanky teen stopped in his tracks, his face expressionless.

"Gonna hurt me, John?" Chas' voice was barely a whisper. He wetted his bruised lips, standing his ground.

"I think you already know the answer to that." John took a step towards his apprentice, trying to read his body language. Already his anger was starting to turn sour in his stomach. Chas looked dreadful, blood in the corners of his mouth, his face blotchy from being hit repeatedly. It was a wonder the teen was still on his feet and defiant, after what he'd suffered. The magician reached out to grab Chas' arm, thinking to move him back to the couch, but the teen wrenched himself free. John nearly hit him again for that.

"What the hell were you thinking, Chas? Wandering off in _that_ club, of all places. Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was? Do you know what Balthazar had planned for you, or did you think he'd just fuck you and then let you go?" John paused for breath, realizing he'd been screaming. Chas stared off into space, and it took the magician a moment or two to realize the teen had tears in his eyes.

John abandoned the bottle to the coffee table, a few rays of clarity beginning to shine through his dark rage. Adding alcohol to this would be like dousing a fire with gasoline. He needed to restrain himself, to gather up the scraps and ribbons of this situation and make it, if not okay, then at least slightly less awful. Chas was starting to shake, just a little, and he watched as the boy tried to hide it.

John sighed, his gaze sweeping over Chas. The teen seemed frozen in place now, not so much insolent as unable to decide what to do. _Was he going to wait till I finished yelling at him, and then leave? _Chas lifted his chin to look him in the eyes, and John couldn't decipher what that meant. Chas avoided his gaze so often it seemed like the gesture was his defense tactic of choice, but now John wasn't so sure. He took another step towards Chas and watched the teen visibly suppress a flinch.

"Chas," he started, slowly closing the distance between them. Chas looked wary but held his ground, keeping his shining hazel eyes on John. The teen's expression was strange, a mix of betrayal and resignation and something else John couldn't place. He was starting to regret losing his temper. Chas certainly didn't deserve this.

Half a foot away, John reached out and pulled Chas into his arms. Chas tensed in his grip, but that was only to be expected. There was a long moment when John thought the teen might just yank himself free and punch him in the mouth, but then Chas sagged into his embrace like a puppet whose strings had been cut. John pressed him close, listening to the teen's ragged breathing. He began to slide his hands under Chas' denim jacket, but the boy startled and pulled away.

"Don't," he whispered.

John nodded. "Alright."

A moment later, Chas stepped back into his arms.

* * *

Review if you're still with me. A lot of people have this on alerts, but I never hear from them, so I don't know if anyone really reads this or not. Well, besides the super-awesome reviewers: love you all! :D


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. Rated M for language, violence, and sexual content.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Feedback gives me warm fuzzies. I made a few slight modifications to chapter seven (and I did go back and do minor edits to every chapter, but it was mostly to fix typos and horribly worded sentences). Nothing major, though. I'm still trying to find the 'flow' of this fic again; I hope it returns soon, 'cause I'm almost done. Sorry for the wait, I know it's been months. I hate this chapter; it refused to cooperate, and is basically just boring filler till I get my act together. We might have to pretend this chapter never happened later on, but I will let you know. :P

Hmmm. If you've read _Hellblazer_, you'll realize I've taken some (read: lots of) liberties with Chas' mother. The sadistic, half-crazed witch Queenie just wouldn't fit, especially given how over-involved and controlling she was in Chas' life. Or at least, how she was until John killed her… (And that's why Comics!Chas loves John, lol. Anyway…) And Chas' father died when he was very young in the comics, so that's how it'll be here.

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_**flipping pages: **_Thanks for the review; I need all the encouragement I can get, haha. 

_**BlackBird666: **_Glad you liked it. Thanks for commenting! :)

_**DarkenedDestiny: **_Thanks for the review. I will argue the point about John's hair though, lol. The film _Constantine_ was based (loosely) on the graphic novel/comics series _Hellblazer_. John was originally a minor character in _Swamp_ _Thing_; a working-class English punk magician who was drawn to resemble the singer Sting as much as the artists thought they could get away with. Blond hair, blue eyes, pushing forty, politically active, and not at all Catholic. It's rumoured that Constantine's creator asked that his name be removed from the credits of the film, as Keanu Reeve's portrayal was so different than how his character was meant to be. A lot of other nice things about the _Hellblazer_ universe (how many beliefs shaped the world, not just Christian ones; and lots of characters and background info) were chucked out the window as well. That said, as I am writing mostly within the movie-verse, I decided to stop describing John's appearance after the first scene, and in later edits I removed all description of John, so that readers can visualize him how they wish. Sorry for the confusion, lol, and thank you for commenting. :D

_**Malty: **_Your review made me feel better about the last chapter. I think I had to distance myself from the scenes a bit, 'cause when I posted I was just so fed up with it, I couldn't bear to even look at it. Once again, you've managed to pick up on all the little details and describe them back to me in ways that make them sound so much more interesting than they actually are, haha. As always, your thoughts are much appreciated, and have helped shape nearly every chapter. Have fun being ensorcelled. Candyfloss! Candyfloss! :D

_**Cooper Sterling: **_I think I love you for reviewing. No, wait, I do! :D Thanks!

_**Shiba: **_Thanks for the kind review. :D

_**Pacochico11: **_Thanks for reviewing!

_**smiles2go: **_Thanks for commenting. :D John can't tell Chas what's going on, 'cause John's not sure himself. And yes, I am looking for another way to save John, lol. :D

_**koreto-chan: **_Yeah, I really enjoy writing John as an asshole, lol. It's like his default setting. :D Thanks for the review!

_**Writer of Souls: **_Glad you like it so far. Thanks for leaving a review! :D

_**Poshy: **_Thanks for commenting! :)

_**DarknessIsTheUniverse: **_Thanks for reviewing! And yeah, more John/Chas coming up, lol.

_**BlackRoseoftheGrave: **_Thanks for reviewing; it's always appreciated. Yeah, I keep looking at the last three paragraphs of that chapter and thinking I should cut them out, lol. :)

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Chapter Eight

_Things that I loved  
__Things that I lost  
__Things I held sacred,  
__Then I dropped  
__- Audioslave ("Doesn't Remind Me")_

John glared at the book, half expecting its edges to blacken and smoke under the intensity of his ire. It was the battered copy of the _Verum_ that he'd bought for Chas this morning; one of the most spiritually-filthy grimoires in existence. He wondered if his apprentice would still want to read it, or if he'd had enough of demons now. John tilted his head and listened for the teen, but although the shower had stopped running, Chas still hadn't emerged from the bathroom. _He's probably in there puking his guts up. Can't say I'd blame him._

The exorcist lit a cigarette and took a long drag of smoke, hoping it would settle him. It was evening now, getting close to seven o'clock, and Chas still hadn't said much. Granted, the boy had fallen into a fitful sleep on the sofa for a few hours, but even while awake, his apprentice had been unusually quiet. John wasn't sure whether the teen was more traumatized by Balthazar or because he'd lost it and hit him. It was probably some horrible, fucked-up combination of these events, and John found himself itching for a glass (or eight) of scotch. Deciding against it, mostly because he knew how both he and Chas acted when drunk, he inhaled another lungful of smoke and tried to pretend he felt soothed.

He turned his gaze back to the book, his eyes running over the archaic words and swirling sigils. This grimoire had gotten him into quite a bit of trouble when he'd been younger and more of an idiot than he was now. If he closed his eyes he could still see the walls smeared red with blood, corpses strewn everywhere, screams recorded and played back over and over, and in the middle of it all, a little girl, singing to herself. They'd locked him up for years over that one.

John exhaled the smoke slowly, opening his eyes to find Chas watching him. He repressed his startle with well-honed practice and turned to the teen, who managed, somehow, to tolerate his gaze without flinching. His apprentice walked steadily towards him, only turning aside at the last minute to sit in the sofa. John held up the grimoire, tossing it onto Chas' lap.

"Don't do anything stupid with it, Chas." Chas snorted in response, and John reached for the ashtray and dragged it closer. He looked at the teen out of the corner of his eye. Chas looked better now, back to his usual healthy colouring. It was still apparent that his lip had been split, and bruises were darkening on his arms and jaw, but he didn't look like he'd just been smacked around anymore. The teen's eyes weren't quite as haunted now, and John was impressed by his resilience.

"How long were you in the room with him?" John didn't expect an answer, and he was surprised when Chas lifted his head a bit to respond.

"I dunno," he muttered. "Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? I wasn't exactly timing it, John."

John tried not to smirk at the annoyance in Chas' voice. _Inappropriate. Inappropriate. Stop. _The teen failed at being mean, but the fact that he was feeling well enough to try to pick a fight was a good sign. "You held your own though. You did well." _Prop him up, for fuck's sake._ John flicked ash off the cigarette, rallying himself. He'd grown accustomed to the teen becoming more independent as he himself got sicker, and to see Chas this vulnerable was unsettling.

The youth stared at the floor; his disagreement, though unspoken, was palpable.

John waved him to silence despite the fact that Chas hadn't uttered a word aloud. "You stayed alive. That's more than a lot of people can say after Balthazar finds them."

Chas rolled his eyes, and John could tell the teen was pissed off. He could see a slight tremor in Chas' hands, and tension roiled off his aura. Chas was probably angry for a hundred different reasons and unable to release any of the frustration. John internally debated the merits of goading his apprentice into a fistfight, wondering if that would make them both feel better. _Maybe, at least until the adrenaline wore off and the bruises started to ache. Fuck_, he thought. _I shouldn't have hit Chas_.

The teen had apparently decided to ignore him, hazel eyes fixed determinedly on the battered book. Chas flipped open the grimoire on his lap and began leafing through the pages agitatedly. John took one last drag on his smoke and crushed it into the ashtray. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, just in case Chas was feeling wounded enough to allow himself to be provoked.

"You shouldn't have wandered off," he stated, experimentally. The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Chas was on his feet, the grimoire abandoned on the cushions of the sofa.

"Yes, John. Fuck, you think I don't know that?" The teen began to pace, hostility in motion, his arms folded across his chest. John watched him with a sick sense of satisfaction; it was rare that he himself was not the angry one of the two. However, what showed up as fury on Chas would really only look like annoyance on anyone else. The boy glared at him, and John felt the force of his indignation radiate outwards like ripples on water. "You think I'm some sort of kid?" Chas spat, frustration evident in his voice.

John rose to his feet as well, figuring they'd all feel better once this was over and done with. He fixed a bored and disdainful expression on his face. "You're certainly capable of acting like one," he drawled.

The world spun for a second, and when it righted itself John was on his back on the floor. Chas straddled his chest, his hands grasping the front of John's shirt to pull his head up. The exorcist was thankful for the pressure Chas' weight put on his lungs; it hurt enough that it stopped him from smirking and giving the game away. John waited until the image of Chas launching himself at him no longer left him giddy, then spoke.

"Maybe if you'd done this when Balthazar found you, you might've been able to fight him off." Rage looked good, if strange, on Chas. The teen's hands tightened in John's shirt, nearly cutting off the exorcist's already limited airflow. Still, Chas made no move to hit him. If he'd thought John was even a bit uncomfortable, he probably would've moved. The boy had always been more suited to kindness than cruelty.

"Fuck you, John. You think I didn't fight him?" Chas appeared befuddled by his own fury. John decided it was nothing less than a miracle that Chas had remained so sweet despite practically living with him. Somehow the teen had avoided becoming contaminated by the bitterness and cynicism that John could not shake off. Chas' own inherent goodness shone through, not matter how the boy tried to hide it.

"I don't know. You looked pretty passive when I got there." John tried again, but Chas couldn't be provoked further. The teen looked away, his eyes brightening. It was almost eerie how quickly his anger faded away. Chas was no better at getting pissed off than he was at being mean. It was no wonder Balthazar was infatuated with him. If John couldn't help himself, how could a demon?

"I couldn't get away from him," Chas whispered, letting go of John's shirt abruptly and rolling off him. John winced, gulping down a lungful of air, and sat up. The teen stayed seated beside him, looking as though he couldn't decide whether or not to run for it. A moment later he made his choice, stumbling to his feet and heading for the kitchen. John cursed and hauled his protesting body upright.

He trailed Chas into the kitchen, but the lanky teen was already at the exit, the wards neatly un-weaving themselves in response to his touch.

"Chas." John caught the boy's sleeve as he opened the door. "Stay here."

The youth turned glossy hazel eyes on him, and John was startled at what he saw in their depths. He'd been wrong about Chas feeling better. The teen looked as though he'd been torn in two, and John had to wonder whether he or Balthazar was more to blame. Chas shook his head and tugged the door open, reaching down to unclasp John's fingers from his shirt.

"What did he do to you, Chas? What did I-"

"Let go."

"You need to stay here, inside the wards."

"Let go, please." Chas breathed, gently loosening the magician's grip. He spared the man a quick glance; his expression strange enough to spook John, just a little. A moment later he was gone.

* * *

Chas wiped his eyes with his sleeve and shoved the doors open, stepping out into the evening's cool breeze. Knowing he was in no shape to drive, he left the cab where it'd been parked on the street, and walked up the road towards the tube station. His bruises earned him some strange looks, but Chas just pulled his collar up higher and continued onward. He was too wrapped-up in his own inner turmoil to give a fuck about what two dozen random Londoners thought of him.

He knew, without a doubt, that John had picked at him on purpose, baiting him for a reaction. Ostensibly, it was because John had weird opinions on proper responses to trauma, but really, Chas knew better. John felt sorry that he'd hit him, and because he normally had to be drunk before he could apologize, he'd endeavoured to get Chas to even the score.

Chas couldn't, though. Even pissed off, (because yes, he had been), he couldn't bring himself to hit John. It wasn't that John didn't deserve it, or that Chas hadn't wanted to. He'd just had enough violence for one day, and didn't want to experience any more, thank you. Sitting on John's chest, with the man's dark eyes upon him, all Chas had wanted to bury his face in John's shoulder and hide until he wasn't afraid anymore.

The teen took the steps down into the station two at a time, digging in his wallet for his oyster card and wondering if there was enough for even one fare on it. The gates let him pass, and he rode the escalator to the bottom, ignoring everyone around him. A District Line train arrived at the East-bound platform almost immediately, and Chas shuffled onto it, lost in thought.

He just… didn't know what to do. John seemed more resigned than ever to death, and Chas couldn't stand the thought of it. It was a dangerous world he'd stepped into, made more so by his connection to John. It wasn't John's protection that he'd miss, though. It was the exorcist himself. Prickly, cranky, smarter-than-anyone-he'd-ever-met-John, who would berate him if he behaved stupidly but always catch his eye to share a private joke. Chas dropped his head into his hands, and stayed there until the speakers announced Stepney Green.

The teen kept his head down as he left the station, keeping a close but discreet eye on the people around him. He told himself it was because he didn't want to get mugged, but in reality, he feared Balthazar. The thought that he might walk around the corner and end up face-to-face with the demon, out here miles away from John and safety, filled him with dread. If not for his pride, he would've listened to the exorcist and stayed in the flat, despite the fact that he could hardly bear to look at John right now.

It was only a brief walk from the station to the apartment complex where his mother lived, and although he was rarely there, Chas had kept his own keys. He didn't risk the lift, having gotten trapped in it for two hours a year or so back. The stairwells had their own perils, but a quick glance revealed only one junkie curled up in a corner, and Chas figured he could probably take him, if he had to. He'd rather not, though. Dealing with Balthazar had shaken him badly, and he didn't think he could handle being attacked twice in one day. _Three times, if you count John. _

The teen didn't bother knocking, simply unlocking the door and stepping inside. The small flat reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap wine, and his mother's ginger cat immediately twined around his legs, begging to be fed. Chas found a bag of cat-food under the cupboard and shook a little into a dish, careful to be quiet. He needn't have worried, as a quick glance into the sitting room revealed his mother passed out on the sofa, an empty scotch bottle within an arm's reach.

Chas sighed and headed to his room, taking an old backpack in his closet and gathering his meagre possessions. Most of his books and clothes were already in the cab or at John's, but he did find his copy of _Liber Null_ tucked under his dresser, and a much abused edition of Bertiaux's _Voudon Gnostic Workbook_ that John had insisted he throw away. From under his pillow Chas took the switchblade that was his only memory of his father, and reaching between the mattress and box-spring, he pulled out his mother's set of Tarot cards and a wad of twenty pound notes.

A further search of his room revealed little of use; Chas packed a bottle of painkillers, a half-box of condoms, and a full range of incense resins, but was resigned to leave everything else. It wasn't as though he had much, although part of him wished he'd kept a photo album, or something. That idea was followed by an urge to take a picture of John, for when he'd never see him again, and Chas clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from screaming. Four minutes past before he could shrug off the thought and move on. The teen headed back to the living room, his eyes drifting over his sleeping mother.

He felt bad about leaving her like this, but he doubted she'd miss him until the rent came due at the end of the month. She'd been pretty once, and utterly brilliant, but the hard life had taken its toll. Chas had often wondered what she saw that made her drink like that, and if he'd end up like her someday, refusing to leave the flat for weeks on end, raving drunkenly that the neighbour upstairs was a monster. He shuddered at the thought, knowing it was possible. She'd once loved books as much as he did, and had taken classes part-time at a nearby college. Alcohol had always held her back, though, and she clung to it like a crutch, never sober enough now to pick up the shreds of her life and stitch them back together.

Chas debated leaving a note, but she'd never find it. He considered taking the cat for a long moment, eventually deciding against it. It wasn't as though his mother's jackass boyfriend was keeping her company, and John might do something weird to the poor beast, anyway.

"I'm not coming back," Chas announced to the empty kitchen. He shouldered his backpack and left, carefully locking the door behind him. He'd just tucked the keys back into his pocket when a voice snarled behind him.

"Whatcha doing, faggot?" Chas pivoted on his heels, ending up face to face with the stubbly grin of his mother's boyfriend. His hatred and fear of this man had once known no bounds, but Chas had met scarier people since then. What was a punch from this chav when he'd had one of the most powerful demons in Britain after him? Chas squared his shoulders and glowered.

"Someone sure beat the piss outta you," the man laughed, his hands curling into fists, and Chas decided he honestly did not give a fuck.

"Here're the keys," the teen muttered, tossing them down the stuffy hallway and bolting in the opposite direction. He was on the tube heading back home to John's flat ten minutes later.

* * *

Okay, okay, it wasn't so much a chapter as two scenes dressed up to look like one. I know it was a fail. And well, I did want to show some John-Chas thought contrast, and how they both seem to deal with things by brushing them aside, and that the things that John worries about aren't really the things that Chas worries about. More on Balthazar's (and John's) effects on Chas next chapter, 'cause right now he's more numb and in shock than anything else (which John was picking up on but Chas was not…). I haven't been to London (or the UK) in over a year, so some of my depictions might be a little off. I wanted to put Chas' mother's place in a slummy part of the Tower Hamlets borough, but I honestly couldn't remember any. Sorry if I'm sullying the neighbourhood's reputation, lol.

So, if anyone's still reading this, please review and tell me! I still write scenes for this, but there's no point in making them coherent (ha!) and posting them if no one's interested anymore. I do realize my updates are frustratingly spastic, and for that I beg forgiveness. I'm actually almost done this, if you can believe it. There are only about two (extremely dark and horrible) chapters and a (slightly more okay) epilogue left. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, but really, even if you just say you're reading, I'll be happy, lol.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. I'm not making any money from this; I simply wanted to bring some darker Chastine fic into the world. Rated M for language, violence, and sexual content.

There is both **consensual** and **non-consensual sexual content **in this chapter, although we're not at the really awful parts yet. I know this fic hasn't really dealt with sexual orientation/preference all that much, but if you're wondering where I'm coming from… 1) John Constantine in the Hellblazer comics is openly bisexual. 2) Chas (Chandler) in the comics is ostensibly heterosexual and married to a woman, but he doesn't seem to love her, and she is jealous of his love for John. Comics!John once states that he knows Chas is in love with him, but he'll never call him on it 'cause Chas would kick his ass. But anyway…

I am the slowest updater ever, and for that I am sorry.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed (Malty, shadowelf144, BlackRoseOfTheGrave, smiles2go, pacochico11, aisarete, hazeleyes, suicidalmadmen, blackbullet, unluckymustang, Jackie, HoTaGaiNsTaWaLL, bowlfullofcherries, and anonymous)! Your comments are greatly appreciated.

* * *

Chapter Nine

_He's not underground  
He's not in the air  
He's not in that book  
You take everywhere  
The devil wears a suit  
He lives in our town  
He lives on our street  
In your home, in your bed  
__- Kate Miller-Heidke ("The Devil Wears a Suit")_

Chas made it back to John's flat well before 10 pm, leaving his small assortment of possessions in the cab. He climbed the stairs slowly, his stomach beginning to tie itself into knots, and dawdled along the dusty, nicotine-stained hallway. It was strange, he decided, that he'd never felt more apprehensive approaching John's living-space than now, when he meant to stay there. He wasn't quite sure how to inform John of his intentions, but he honestly didn't have another place to stay, and he was certain the exorcist wouldn't make him live in his car. Well, pretty sure, anyway.

He almost hadn't bothered returning. Sitting on the train, staring out the windows at the dark tunnel encasing him, Chas had sincerely contemplated leaving. He'd left his family without any tears; it wouldn't be that difficult to leave London, leave John and Balthazar and Beeman and Midnite and everyone else he'd met in the occult scene. He could head south to the continent; end up someplace warm and interesting like Barcelona or Marseille, hell, even Rome. Or he could head out to Oxford or Cambridge and convince them to let him enroll. And he could convince them, Chas was certain.

But it didn't matter. He knew John wouldn't chase after him if he left, even if the man was well enough to do so. He wouldn't have to. He'd know that Chas would come back, sooner or later, like a curse or a stray. And Chas knew it too. Not simply because magic was like a drug that he couldn't get enough of and John was both a supplier and fellow addict. Not just because he was John's apprentice, and that sort of bond was deeper and more complicated than anyone could comprehend. And certainly not only because Chas was too compassionate to leave a dying man to his hard fate.

It was because John belonged to him as much as he belonged to John, only John was too stubborn to admit it. Chas had to admit it. John was all he had.

Chas touched the door-handle and waited while the wards responded to his presence, drawing their power from his life-force, deciding whether or not to allow him access. They knew, as much as non-sentient creations could know anything, that he wasn't John, but he could usually convince them to let him in anyway. Chas wasn't quite sure how he'd managed this, as John surely intended to lock him out as much as anyone else, but he figured that, as John's apprentice, he was given some privileges, even if they were subconscious on John's part.

He felt the wards coil up around the door frame, undulating as gracefully as venomous serpents, considering whether or not to strike. A heartbeat later everything clicked into place, and Chas stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, spine pressed to the frame, determined to plan out his next move. He knew when he was out of his depth, and the entire day had been a shining example of that. Chas shut his eyes and winced, his bruises starting to throb again. Sliding to the floor and hyperventilating till he passed out didn't really seem like a bad option at this point.

"I can hear you out there, Chas. Stop trying to be sneaky." John's voice jerked him back to reality, and Chas stumbled forward into the living room, dropping onto the sofa like a tossed ragdoll. John remained seated in his chair, listlessly holding a lit cigarette. Chas watched him tiredly. The memory of John, white with rage, shooting down Balthazar, twined with the following one of John losing it and screaming at him. Different kinds of fury, Chas decided, feeling resentment beginning to saturate his insides. He glared at the exorcist until John deigned to look in his direction.

"You came back," John stated, sounding mildly surprised, as though he'd thought Chas would've been gone longer. He took a drag, and Chas could hear the wheeze of his protesting lungs.

"I returned my mother's keys," Chas said flatly. He waited, but the magician didn't respond. The silence stretched, and Chas thought that if they both died this very instant, this might be their hell, sitting across from each other in the same room for all eternity. Or at least, it would be his hell; John seemed to be expecting something much more horrifically and unbearably awful than this awkward quietude, and Chas figured that John knew what to expect, if anyone did. _And since he knows, why is he acting like it's gonna be alright?_

If Chas had been drinking, he would've blurted that thought right out at John, consequences be damned. As it was, he bit his lip and frowned, trying to sort through the whirling mess in his brain. _I need sleep,_ he mused blearily. _I need to sleep, and maybe when I wake up I'll have a better handle on… all of this. _

He didn't notice that he was studying the floor with an intense fascination until John blocked his view, reaching down to grip his arms and pull him to his feet. He staggered against the man, caught a whiff of sulfur from the match that John had used to light his cigarette, and nearly threw up.

"You're in shock." John's voice echoed sternly above him.

"Rough day," Chas heard himself mutter. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of the statement. John's arm slid around his waist, steadying him, and he felt the force of the magician's will quiet his reeling thoughts. It calmed him almost immediately, and he pressed close to John's side, allowing the man to guide him down the hallway. He found himself in John's bedroom before he knew it, and he stared in bewilderment as John gestured towards his bed.

"It's safer for you to sleep in here, given the state you're in. The walls have extra wards, so nothing will bother you, and you won't bother anyone else." John plucked a pillow from the bed and tucked it under his arm. "Go to sleep," he ordered, heading back towards the living room. Chas felt the force of the suggestion slide over him like an ocean wave, and, too exhausted to resist, he curled up in John's sheets.

* * *

John could barely see; heat seared his eyes, and the air reeked of sulphur and fumitory. Chas hid his face from him, turning away in a vain attempt at self-protection. Blood smeared his back, oozing from dozens of elegant, intricate wounds. John pressed harder against the lithe body, forcing Chas' legs further apart, sneering when he heard a small, choked gasp. He licked at the sigils, sliding his tongue into the cuts to open them further, murmuring the incantations that would ensure the incisions would scar deeper than mere skin.

Chas sobbed, scrabbling desperately at the cement or blankets or earth beneath him, trying to gain enough purchase to get away. John tightened his grip, arms locked around Chas' waist, keeping their hips flush together. Chas kicked at him, and John responded by taking his arm and twisting it until Chas let out a muffled scream.

"I… I can't do this John, please. Don't do this… I can't. Constantine, please," Chas begged. John smirked cruelly, felt Chas trembling beneath him, and sank his teeth into the muscle over the shoulder. Blood filled his mouth, nearly choking him, and Chas wasn't whispering soft pleas for mercy anymore but instead screamed and wept like a wounded animal. Hideous, shrieking laughter surrounded them, and John thought that maybe it was coming from him.

He shoved Chas' face down to quiet him, then trailed his hands down the boy's back, pausing at each wound to offer a sharp scratch. He lifted his head to look around, and felt his fingernails tear the flesh at Chas' hips. The scent of blood mixed with smoke and tar and burned into his lungs. Wherever he was, there were mirrors, and he and Chas were replicated from all angles, his sins reflected and refracted outwards to the edges of eternity. His dead friends, Gary and Emma and Anne Marie, Zed and Ritchie and Brendan, a multitude of ghosts, leered from the shadows, whispering. Chas moaned under him, and John heard himself echo the sound, over and over and over.

* * *

"What the hell, John?"

Chas had leaned over the back of the sofa to shake him awake, apparently having learned not to get within swinging range when John was having a nightmare. John ignored him in favour of focusing on not vomiting up his lungs. The dream was vivid, stamped into his brain, and John was glad the room was mostly dark because he certainly did not want to look at Chas right now. The teen walked around the couch and sat down beside him, far too close for his reeling senses.

"Go back to bed, Chas," he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was trembling like a fucking coward, his heart pounding in his aching chest. John heaved a shaky sigh, cursing under his breath. He knew Chas could sense his distress on a deeper level than just his physical symptoms, and he tried to shuffle further away from him, out of range of his touch. John had no idea if psychometry could be practiced on the human body the way it was done with objects, but he fervently wished such a thing was beyond Chas' abilities.

"Bad dreams?" Chas asked softly. John couldn't see well in the dark, but the odd bits of light that spilled into the flat from the streetlamps outside glinted off Chas' face, his bare shoulders, his clavicle. The teen followed John as he tried to move away, persistently insisting on remaining in his space. _As usual. _John glowered at him, but the effect was lost in the night. Chas wasn't as easily chased off as he'd used to be, either.

"Nothing for you to think about," he growled, carding his fingers through his hair. Chas huddled closer, a warm sleepy presence that seemed to reach out and envelope him, and John tried not to flinch. He failed, and Chas noticed, and they spent about a minute just sitting side by side, afraid to move. Chas seemed to recover first, one arm resting on the back of the sofa, leaving John trapped in the corner. _He put you where he wanted you pretty quick; wonder who he got that trick from?_

"I mean it, Chas. Piss off. If you're done with my bed, I'll take it back."

He was clearly being ignored, because he felt Chas' fingers slide up his throat and then trace his jawline. Before he could ask just what the fuck Chas thought he was doing, soft lips pressed against his own. John jerked his head back, his hands curling into fists. He wanted to scream at the boy, to shake some sense into him, to hit him until his knuckles were bruised and Chas was bloody.

Chas was on his feet a second later and John had the uncanny impression that his apprentice knew what he'd been thinking. He leaned to his right and groped for the lamp-switch but the small amount of illumination only accentuated the shadows in the room. Chas' eyes looked nearly obsidian in this light, his lips slightly parted. Sometime during the night he'd lost his shirt but kept his jeans, and he stood barefoot in front of John, studying the man with the sort of intensity he very rarely revealed.

"You don't want to be doing that, Chas," John snarled, not sure whether he meant the kiss or the scrutiny. He didn't want to stare, but if he didn't see the boy fairly whole and mostly healthy before him, his mind provided dozens of images from his dreams instead. So he scowled at Chas, and Chas glared (as much as he could manage) back, and John was willing to guess that at least three minutes passed this way. Eventually, he leaned back in the sofa, relaxing ever so slightly.

"I'm not gonna hit you," he heard himself say, and wasn't sure he believed it. Chas didn't seem to have any faith left in him either, judging by the look sent his way. The teen appeared perplexed, as though he couldn't decide whether to pick a fight or to run away, and thus was stranded like a deer in the headlights. If, of course, said deer was an irritated, psychic teenager, John thought, knowing a smirk had reached his lips when Chas' frown deepened.

"What I am supposed to do, John?" Chas blurted. No pretext, no forethought. He stepped closer, back into the pool of light, looking exhausted, exasperated, and utterly lost. Despair flickered in his eyes, and that chilled John to the very marrow of his bones. "What am I supposed to do when you're dead, John?"

John opened his mouth to respond but couldn't force out the words. He watched in silence as Chas knelt in front of him, hands held outward in the ritual gesture of supplication. He couldn't say no, but he managed to shake his head curtly as Chas moved to offer the sign of a novitiate's submission to the initiatory rite. The teen stopped immediately in a rare show of obedience, and John leaned forward, feeling as though one of them should be explaining themselves.

"None of that, now," he managed to mutter. Chas refused to look at him, dark lashes shadowing his eyes.

"I don't want you to die." The words were clipped and pointed. Chas licked his lips, hands twisting nervously.

"Chas," John began, but the boy interrupted.

"Let me help," he demanded in a whisper. "Please."

"It's not up to you, Chas," the magician started once more, resigned to the fact that they'd probably have this conversation over again each day until he died or Chas gave up, whichever came first. John was betting his death would, and couldn't decide whether to be encouraged or annoyed.

"Let me help." Chas moistened his lips again, looking as though he fervently wished for his hat to pull down over his eyes. "Or help me, John. You're all I have." He laughed briefly, sounding bitter and broken, the strangeness of it not lost on the exorcist. It was probably the closest thing to a confession of love he would ever receive, from anyone.

"For fuck's sake," John breathed. He managed to catch Chas under the chin and force him to lift his eyes. "There's more to you than this."

Chas looked doubtful, and John slid his hands behind Chas' neck to tug him closer. He leaned forward until his mouth was against Chas' ear. "I will not initiate you, or make a sacrifice of you, or anything else like that. You will _not_ make me this offer again. Understand?" John could feel Chas press closer, deft hands settling on his knees. The boy nodded, and John firmly resisted the urge to lick Chas' earlobe. "You're my one good deed, Chas," he whispered, more to himself than to the lanky youth kneeling before him. It took all of his willpower to force the images of his dreams from his mind.

He cupped Chas' face to keep his hands from shaking, and when his apprentice stood just long enough to descend onto his lap, he allowed it. _You shouldn't. You just had a nightmare about hurting him. He nearly got raped by a demon this afternoon. Send him back to bed by himself right now. _Chas kissed him hard enough to bruise, and John found himself returning the kiss, his fingertips trailing over the warm smooth skin of Chas' sides. _He's seventeen. You're a monster, John Constantine. Stop this at once._

* * *

John pressed him down into the sofa, and Chas stretched out underneath the man as best he could, sighing shakily. He wrapped his arms around John's neck, pulling him closer, terrified that the exorcist would change his mind and kick him out. He didn't know what John dreamed about, but the whirl of horror and rage and hopelessness surrounding him made it obvious that it'd been dreadful, whatever it was. At least John only had nightmares though; the awfulness in Chas' life seemed to play out in the daytime, while he was wide-awake.

A gentle bite at his throat made his breath hitch, and he threaded his fingers into John's hair. He'd gotten hard so fast it was almost embarrassing, and now that it seemed like he was getting what he wanted, he was beginning to wonder why John was indulging him at all. John certainly had no qualms about hurting his feelings, and Chas had expected to get turned down yet again, but something had made John change his mind. Not about initiation, or any kind of ritual, but about his response when Chas tried getting close to him. _Did I say something right for once? Or did he just get tired of having to kick me away all the time?_

The weight of John's body on his own was slightly uncomfortable, but Chas relished the closeness. It was comforting to know sometimes that John was real and solid, made of flesh and bone, and not yet some ephemeral bit of smoke that would drift away on the breeze. He craved this intimacy, startled by his own responsiveness, unable to repress a shiver as John's teeth grazed his collarbone. Chas squirmed to stretch out further, wishing he'd thought to lose his jeans before beginning this, and kind of hoping that maybe John would take care of that for him.

He murmured his appreciation as John's hands slid lower, pausing to highlight each of his ribs, tracing over his abs. A finger gently trailed over one of the scratches that Balthazar had left, and Chas flinched away before he could stop himself. _Shit. Now he's going to think…_

"Chas?" John's eyes were darker than usual, Chas noted hopefully, meeting the man's gaze. The fear that John would push him away, out of his flat and out of his life, engulfed him in a panicked intensity. Chas plucked open a few of the buttons on John's shirt, wondering if he looked desperate or slutty or both.

"Chas. Listen. I shouldn't be doing this to you."

"_With_ me," Chas corrected. "And don't act like you have morals, John," he rasped. He brought his knees up to press their bodies together more firmly, arching his back so that John got the hint. It sounded like John mumbled 'I do have morals' half-heartedly, but the words were lost against Chas' throat.

* * *

_Morals. Right. Surely they'll kick in any time now. _John had a feeling he'd lost the war. He'd honestly only meant to offer Chas a bit of an apology for his earlier violence, but once they'd started, well… It was difficult to keep his hands off the teen. Chas was warm and supple and practically wrapped around him, and it was much easier to remain sprawled on the sofa than to unweave himself from this whole situation. He pushed all thoughts of his dreams from his mind again: this Chas wasn't panicked or hurting; this Chas was looking at him with self-satisfied smirk. _This Chas is also your apprentice, and underage, and emotionally exhausted. You're taking advantage of him. What's wrong with you? _

John couldn't help himself. His fingers swiftly explored Chas' lean frame, searching out every sensitive or ticklish place and mapping it in his memory. Chas was achingly responsive, and it wasn't any hardship to pin him down on the cushions and kiss him breathless. Hands scrabbled against his back, un-tucking his shirt and trying to pull him closer. John propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring his burning lungs, and looked directly at Chas. The youth was breathing heavily, a slight flush on his cheeks, his breath hitching each time he lifted his hips to grind against John.

Each touch Chas offered felt good, soothing even, and John seriously contemplated ushering him back to his room, stripping him completely, and then fucking him senseless. _Absolutely not. Are you out of your goddamned mind? You should stop this right now. This isn't fair to him. _

"C'mere Chas," he muttered instead, rolling onto his side and pulling the teen with him. He put Chas between his body and the back of the sofa, leaving them pressed together in the narrow space. It was difficult to rearrange themselves, but Chas seemed to catch on quickly enough, his fists clenched in the front of John's shirt. He startled a bit when John reached down to unbutton his jeans, watching warily, biting his lip. John drew him into a kiss, feeling the last of his resolve drain away.

Chas pulled back a moment later, gasping for breath, and John finished tugging open his jeans. He wrapped his hand around Chas' hard cock, wondering if this was just one more sin he'd go to hell for. He knew Chas wasn't any sort of virgin -he couldn't have been, growing up where he did- but still there had to be some sort of punishment for the corruption of youth, or the tarnishing of metaphorical innocence, or something. Chas crooned incoherently against John's shoulder, and John felt a kiss turn into a licking, sucking bite. His own touch roughened in response, and Chas pressed harder into his grip, exhaling shakily.

"John, fuck, I mean…" Chas panted, reaching clumsily for John's zipper. John brushed him away, staving off the inevitable argument by forcing Chas into a deep kiss. He explored the teen's mouth with his tongue, letting Chas rock his hips against him, savouring every little sound or gasp. Precum slicked his palm, and Chas keened helplessly with every stroke. A sheen of sweat covered Chas' skin, and he appeared flushed with fever. Darkened hazel eyes met John's own, and it took all of John's remaining self-discipline to keep himself from simply fucking his willing and pliant apprentice until neither of them could remember their own names.

He managed to restrain himself, thinking that maybe it would make him an excellent candidate for sainthood or something, and nearly lost all resolve in an instant when Chas moaned his name.

"C'mon, Chas," John muttered, sliding his tongue up Chas' throat and trying to ignore the way the resulting sigh sent an ache through his whole body. He pressed his mouth to Chas', gently this time, and the youth tilted his head back to drink in the kiss. They shared breath for nearly a minute, Chas' hands clutching desperately at John, as though determined to keep him by his side.

A few more deft strokes and Chas lost it all at once, arching against John with a groan. John held him close because he didn't know what else to do; the feeling that he shouldn't have allowed any of this to happen at all reappeared almost immediately. Chas wasn't his lover, he didn't treat the boy as his equal, and simply wanting to touch him wasn't a good enough reason to jerk off a seventeen-year-old. John let him catch his breath, then attempted to untangle himself.

Chas refused to let go. He buried his face in John's shirt, trembling.

* * *

So… I have the epilogue written, and now I just need to finish ch10, and maybe a ch11 depending on how many tangents I go off on. I chose a random selection of John's friends from the comics; not sure if they're all dead yet (I think Zed's still alive), but it's honestly only a matter of time.

My apologies for taking so long with this; I really couldn't get into it for the longest time. Please review and let me know what you think. I dislike this chapter, I feel like I've forgotten something important, so please, pick it apart and tell me what needs fixing. I'm okay with re-writing stuff if it needs it. And I'm doped up on valerian and skullcap while doing my final edits, so hopefully there aren't too many typos, haha. :D


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